#he just answers that it's an old friend and that's it

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Speedrunning Marriage Fraud || Ace Trappola

You get isekai’d as the heroine in a romance novel, but instead of dreamy suitors, you’re stuck with a yandere cryptid, a billionaire with no impulse control, and a knight who thinks he's in a Shakespearean tragedy (and more).

Your solution? Commit marriage fraud with your best friend, Ace Trappola, and hope no one asks for a marriage certificate.

Series Masterlist

You should have known better than to leave your apartment. You should have listened to your instincts, that deep, primal voice that told you the outside world was a dangerous and unforgiving place. But no. You just had to touch grass.

It had all started with an innocent desire for fresh air. You had gone to the park, found a nice spot, and opened the novel that a colleague had given you—probably as a form of psychological torture disguised as a gift. From the summary alone, you knew it was going to be a lot, but you had no idea just how much your soul would suffer.

The heroine was a noble who clearly did not want to be in this story. Every single page was filled with her staring off into the void, giving half-hearted responses to the five men vying for her attention, like she was a protagonist who hadn’t realized she was in a romance novel yet.

And the love interests. Oh, the love interests.

The (Discount) Yandere Viscount (who had never heard of stealth)

His idea of "obsessively watching over the heroine" was lurking in the shadows like a particularly uncoordinated cryptid. Every single time he tried to “stalk” her, he tripped over his own sword. At one point, he dramatically whispered, “I will protect you… wait, don’t run!” before faceplanting into a bush.

2. The Childhood Acquaintance (who was delusional)

This man had spoken to the heroine exactly once when they were both six years old, but somehow convinced himself they were soulmates. He carried around the same handkerchief she had given him more than 15 years ago like it was a sacred relic and refused to take no for an answer.

3. The "Genius Strategist" Prince (who had the IQ of a raisin)

The man had already planned their wedding, their honeymoon, and the names of their three children within four minutes of meeting her. When she told him she wasn’t interested, his brain blue-screened and he simply repeated, “Ah, you’re just shy.” No, sir. She is not shy. She just isn't interested.

4. The Brooding Duke of the North (who was a caricature of a chaebol heir from a K-Drama)

He believed love could be bought. He once gifted her a solid gold chair because “only the finest furniture is worthy of your presence.” He bought an entire carnival just so she wouldn’t have to wait in line. At one point, he threw money at a random tree, and you weren’t even sure why.

5. The Drama King Knight (who needed to calm down)

He was so powerful but refused to use his strength unless it was for dramatic effect. He got scratched by a cat once and collapsed into the heroine’s arms like he had been mortally wounded. His sword had the power to split mountains, but the only time he ever drew it was to dramatically point at the moon while monologuing about destiny.

And the villainess? She wasn’t even that bad. Compared to these five disasters, she looked like a sensible person.

Somehow, despite all odds, the heroine chose Ace Trappola, her childhood friend, which you had to respect. That was the one good decision this novel made. But just when you thought there might be some semblance of satisfaction—an assassin appeared out of nowhere (sent by the villainess of course) and killed her.

That was it. That was the ending.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you weren’t sure if it was grief for the heroine, sheer frustration, or physical pain from how hard you had been laughing at this disaster of a novel. It was the most ridiculous, nonsensical, brain-cell-destroying thing you had ever read. You could feel your neurons committing arson inside your skull.

You snapped the book shut and decided that was enough stupidity for one day.

It was time to go home.

As you trudged back, your brain still processing the absolute war crime of a plot you had just read, you heard it.

A faint rumbling.

A presence.

And then—

“OUT OF THE WAY, SONNY!”

A blur of gray hair and unholy speed tore through the park, the sound of wheels screeching against pavement like a demonic banshee’s cry. You turned your head just in time to see a grandma on rollerblades, moving at a velocity no elderly person should legally be able to achieve.

For a split second, you locked eyes.

And in that moment, you knew.

You were not surviving this.

Before you could even process what was happening, she collided into you full force, sending you into a full aerial somersault before you crashed into the bushes like a ragdoll. You barely registered the thundering roar of her departure as she continued skating into the sunset, leaving you for dead.

Now, as you lay crumpled in a bush, your body feeling like it had been hit by a sentient freight train in orthopedic shoes, you had to accept the consequences of your actions. The world had punished you for your hubris.

She. Didn’t. Even. Stumble.

Your body ached, your limbs refused to move, and as darkness crept into your vision, your last conscious thought was, How is a senior citizen more sturdy than me…?

And then, everything went black.

The first thing you noticed upon waking up was the suspiciously pleasant smell. It was fresh, like lavender and high society, with a hint of expensive tea and wealth you’d never personally known.

Your groggy brain latched onto the first thought it could process:

Damn. Hospitals really upgraded their budget.

Then, half a second later, a much more terrifying realization hit you.

Oh God. The ambulance bill.

Your eyes snapped open in unfiltered financial terror, hands clutching at the sheets as you prepared to calculate your medical debt down to the last miserable cent. You were already accepting your fate as a lifelong indentured servant to the healthcare system when—

The ceiling was too ornate. The bed was too soft.

And there was a man sitting beside you, holding your hand.

Your breath caught in your throat as your vision sharpened. Red hair. Heart earring. A cocky smirk, even in his sleep.

You knew that face.

You knew that godforsaken face.

This wasn’t a hospital. This wasn’t even your world.

Somewhere in the heavens, a cosmic entity was laughing as you stared at Ace Trappola, the very same Ace Trappola from the cover of the book you were reading before you got absolutely trucked by a grandma on rollerblades.

Your will to live immediately evaporated.

This couldn’t be happening. This was not real. There was no way that the trashy dumpster fire of a novel you barely got halfway through had decided to swallow you whole and spit you out as its heroine. You were a victim of circumstance. You hadn’t even wanted to read the book. Your colleague had shoved it into your hands with a laugh, saying, “It’s so bad, you’ll love it.”

And now? Now you were going to die in it.

While you were still reeling from this existential horror, Ace stirred beside you, stretching like he’d just taken a refreshing nap instead of being complicit in your suffering.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” he said.

You almost threw up in real time.

NO. NO, HE DID NOT JUST SKYRIM YOU.

Before you could even begin to unpack that offensive introduction, Ace leaned back in his chair, regarding you with an amused grin.

“Man, you were out for so long,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself at your expense. “We were starting to get worried.”

He paused, then snickered. “Not that I can blame you, though. You got knocked out real bad after Sir Drama decided to pick you up and carry you across a puddle—y’know, because chivalry—and then you started struggling and he, uh…” Ace coughed, failing to smother his laughter. “He might’ve… dropped you on your head.”

Your soul left your body.

The sheer force of your disgust, fury, and resignation compressed into a singularity of unparalleled despair.

You had already suffered a head injury in this world and it hadn’t even been five minutes.

Meanwhile, Ace—clearly unbothered by your silent mental breakdown—casually reached out and ruffled your hair like you were some kind of small animal.

“Try not to scare everyone like that next time, yeah?” he said, standing up with a stretch. “Anyway, I’ll let you rest. See ya, drama queen.”

And just like that, he walked out.

The door clicked shut.

And you were left alone.

You sat there for a full minute, staring at the ceiling, dead inside.

Then at the overly luxurious furniture.

Then at the mirror across the room.

You knew what you would see before you even looked.

White nightgown. Perfect noble lady bedhead. The very same reflection that haunted you from the novel’s terrible cover.

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaled, and let out the most guttural, primal scream into your pillow.

This was real. This was happening.

And worst of all—

You were about to be pursued by five of the worst men to ever disgrace the literary world.

Tears pricked at your eyes.

You needed a plan.

You needed a way out.

You needed to reject them.

You needed to survive.

With renewed determination, you wiped your tears, hardened your heart, and began plotting your escape.

The moment you accepted that you were, in fact, trapped in this flaming disaster of a novel, you immediately went into damage control mode.

Step One: Gather Allies.

Your first course of action was to round up every single sane person in your immediate social circle—which, in this case, meant the heroine’s original friend group. You weren’t sure how well they’d take this, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

So, within the hour, you managed to corral Ace, Deuce, Riddle, Cater, and Trey into a private room like some kind of organized intervention.

They were all staring at you expectantly.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the sheer stupidity of what you were about to say.

“Listen,” you began, voice firm. “I need help. Serious help. I am being actively hunted by five of the worst men to ever exist, and I need to figure out how to reject them before I end up dead in an alley.”

There was a pause.

Riddle, bless his soul, was the first to react.

He patted you on the back, nodding solemnly. “Finally,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you to grow a spine. It’s about time.”

You blinked. That was the most support you had ever received in your life.

Meanwhile, Trey and Cater exchanged amused glances, Ace looked way too smug for comfort, and Deuce was already looking at Ace like he was onto something.

“You need to get rid of them?” Trey asked, as if he were merely discussing pastry ingredients.

“Yes,” you stressed. “Immediately.”

Riddle hummed in approval. “Good. Then let’s strategize.”

You, Riddle, Trey, and Cater huddled together like you were planning a war campaign.

Ace and Deuce, on the other hand, were having a separate conversation entirely.

A conversation that consisted of Deuce elbowing Ace repeatedly while Ace sat there, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Then, with the casual arrogance of someone who absolutely had an ulterior motive, Ace stretched his arms and leaned back.

“Y’know,” he drawled, cutting into your very serious rejection plan, “we could make things way easier if you just tell ‘em you’re already taken.”

You stared at him. “Excuse me?”

Ace smirked. “You'd just need a fake lover, right?”

“…Yes?”

He shrugged. “I could do it.”

The room went silent.

Deuce’s face twisted into an undisguised scowl of "That's not what i meant." Riddle raised an eyebrow. Trey hid a knowing smile behind his hand. Cater was visibly entertained.

You, on the other hand, were experiencing about five different emotions at once.

On one hand, Ace clearly had a crush on the heroine—for you. Which meant using him for this felt slightly scummy.

On the other hand, game was game, and survival was survival.

And you were not above exploiting every advantage you could get.

“…Alright,” you agreed, shoving your morals into a dark abyss.

Ace grinned like he’d just won a bet.

Deuce looked one second away from committing homicide.

And just like that, Operation “Escape Horrible Men” was officially underway.

The first lunatic to cross your path was, tragically, the childhood acquaintance—if you could even call him that. This was a man whose entire personality was built on a single act of kindness you had allegedly performed when you were six, like some kind of feral pigeon imprinting on the first human to throw it bread.

He had the look of a man who had been living exclusively off delusions and a diet of unattainable dreams, and you could already feel your soul attempting to evacuate your body at the sight of him.

It all started when you, Ace, and Deuce were having a perfectly nice day at the market. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and you were engaged in the kind of casual battery that only true friends participated in—swatting at each other, shoving, stealing food mid-bite, and slinging arms over shoulders like a group of rowdy idiots. It was peace. It was joy. And then he appeared.

Like a cockroach that had survived a nuclear apocalypse, he inserted himself into the conversation with an ease that defied all reason, his hand creeping onto your waist as if that was something people just did.

The audacity. The sheer gall. The unmitigated temerity.

On instinct, you physically rejected his existence. You shoved him off with enough force to make a statement, then slammed your heel down on his foot. You were not the original heroine. You did not believe in suffering in silence. You believed in equal opportunity violence.

But this man—this absolute buffoon—had the mental resilience of a particularly dense brick. He simply did not process rejection.

You walked away. He followed. Like a stray cat you accidentally fed once, he clung to your side, ignoring all signs that he was unwelcome.

You showed Deuce a cool charm for his sword; he inserted his completely unsolicited opinion.

You cracked a joke to Ace; he forced out a laugh like you had told it for his benefit.

At one point, you were fairly certain he was just mimicking your breathing patterns to convince himself you were soulmates.

Alright. You had tried being civil. Time to be petty.

You turned to Ace with the kind of dramatic flourish that only came with years of consuming terrible romance novels, throwing yourself into his arms like some damsel in distress. Ace, to his credit, took exactly one second to process before he immediately understood the assignment.

He leaned in close, breath brushing against your ear like he was whispering something scandalous, and you, in turn, made a show of gasping, clutching his shirt like he had just recited the most romantic poetry in existence.

Then he hand-fed you a pastry.

It was too much. Too intimate. Too stupidly effective. You let out a little dreamy sigh, delicately biting into the pastry like it was a love declaration and not just your breakfast. Ace, ever the performer, brushed a crumb off your lips with his thumb.

Deuce, at this point, was convulsing with laughter in the background, nearly choking on his own spit.

But the acquaintance? The parasite? The man who had lived the past decade of his life under the assumption that you were his? He was seething. His face was twisted like he had just swallowed a whole lemon rind and all.

Time to twist the knife.

You turned to Ace with the most lovestruck expression you could muster and, in a voice dripping with sugar and malice, cooed, “Darling, when are you going to propose? I simply cannot wait to be engaged to you”

Ace visibly blue-screened for a moment. You could hear the Windows error noise in real-time. But he was nothing if not quick on his feet.

In a devastating move, he took your hand in both of his, looked into your eyes like you personally invented the concept of love, and murmured, “My love, I’ve searched the entire kingdom for a ring that shines as brightly as your eyes, but nothing has been worthy of you yet.”

That was it. That was the final blow. The childhood acquaintance physically recoiled, his reality shattering like fragile glass, his world crumbling like an over-soaked sponge cake.

“You’re… dating?” he whispered, trembling, as if he was the protagonist in a tragic opera.

You and Ace turned to him in perfect synchrony, all wide eyes and lovesick smiles, and in the most disgustingly sweet voices you could manage, declared, “We’re soooo in love~”

He ran away crying.

It was magnificent. It was euphoric. You turned to watch him flee, skidding into the distance like a wounded deer, while Deuce collapsed against a stand, wheezing.

And then, just for a moment—barely a second—you caught Ace watching you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then he smirked, slinging an arm around your shoulder like nothing had happened.

One down. Four to go.

The invitation to the ball had arrived with the pomp and circumstance of an execution notice.

You had already survived assassination attempts (by fate and by your own refusal to engage with the five unhinged men vying for your hand), but now you were being asked to waltz? Like some graceful noble lady who had spent her entire life twirling through candlelit halls and not someone whose idea of “dancing” was flailing in the kitchen at 2 AM while waiting for instant noodles to cook?

You tried to tell yourself, maybe the original heroine’s muscle memory will kick in.

It did not.

You attempted a single spin in your room and promptly tripped over the hem of your dress, landing face-first into the carpet with all the elegance of a sedated goose. The reality was undeniable—you needed help.

Unfortunately, Deuce and Riddle, your two best hopes for structured, competent lessons, were drowning in their official duties. That left you with Trey(thankfully), Cater, and Ace.

Ace. The man who claimed he could “totally waltz” but then proceeded to move like he was dodging invisible potholes. He swore he was just "freestyling," which, sure, was a thing people did—just not in 18th-century ballroom dancing.

Trey, ever the responsible elder brother figure, took pity on your plight and offered to teach you. You gratefully accepted, placing your hand in his, and the two of you began to move across the floor. Or, rather, Trey moved and you decimated his toes with every step.

Ace, watching from the sidelines, looked like he had been personally wronged by the universe.

His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed. His grip on his drink? White-knuckled. If he had been any tenser, his soul might have ascended on the spot.

Cater, in contrast, was having the time of his life.

Sipping tea like a smug little gremlin, he watched the spectacle unfold with the kind of amusement normally reserved for reality TV drama. He did not care that Ace was clearly dying inside. In fact, it was making the tea taste better.

Meanwhile, Trey suffered.

He suffered so much.

You stepped on his foot. Again. You stepped on it without intent. Without malice. But with the weight of a hundred failed dance lessons.

“Ah, you’re getting there,” Trey said with the patience of a saint, even as he subtly tried to guide you away from his crushed toes.

Ace twitched.

The evening ended with you being marginally better at dancing and Ace looking like he had been force-fed an entire lemon tree.

The next day, you arrived at Ace’s estate with the singular goal of dragging him into town for shenanigans.

Instead, you were met at the entrance by his butler, who, with a knowing wink that immediately put you on edge, informed you that Ace was “currently practicing” and that you were "free to go in and see for yourself."

This, of course, set off all your mental alarms.

You pushed open the door just a crack, peeking inside, and what you saw nearly short-circuited your brain.

There, in the middle of the room, was Ace Trappola.

Dancing.

With a coat hanger.

He held it like a real partner, moving across the floor with surprising grace, his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pressing into a frustrated pout whenever he missed a step.

You felt something unfamiliar rise in your chest. A warmth. A flutter. A sense of being deeply, irreversibly touched.

You immediately squashed the feeling. Crushed it under your heel like a bug. Incinerated it. You refused to let sentimentality win.

So, naturally, you cleared your throat and went straight for the teasing.

“Wow, Ace. I didn’t know you and the coat hanger were so close.”

Ace startled so hard he nearly dropped the poor inanimate object.

He turned to you, face flushing an almost adorable shade of pink, before scowling and attempting to play it cool.

“I—this—I wasn’t practicing for you or anything!” he scoffed, crossing his arms as if that would somehow erase the memory from your brain.

“Oh, of course not,” you said, nodding sagely. “You were obviously training to impress the coat hanger.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed the back of his neck. Refused to meet your eyes.

“…You wanna practice together?”

And that was how you found yourself dancing with Ace in the dim glow of the evening light, his hands warm against yours, the two of you laughing every time you stumbled.

It was awkward. It was messy. It was weirdly fun.

And somewhere in the background, Ace’s butler was already reallocating the estate’s budget for your wedding.

You had successfully survived the dance.

This was, by all accounts, a miracle.

There had been no toe-crushing disasters, no tragic falls, no wardrobe malfunctions that would have made the noble ladies clutch their pearls and whisper about you for decades. Not even a single case of you flinging your arms out too enthusiastically and smacking a duke’s son in the face.

You had defied fate.

And it definitely helped that your partner had been Ace—as much as that bruised your pride to admit. He was annoyingly decent at making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet, even though he kept smirking the entire time like he was waiting for you to say something ridiculous like "Wow, Ace, you're so talented and charming and handsome, what would I ever do without you?"

You would rather perish.

So, once the dance ended, you immediately excused yourself and found a nice, solid chair to collapse into. Ace, good little fake boyfriend that he was, offered to get you both drinks, which was a very convenient excuse for you to not be near him for five minutes.

And that was when the Genius Strategist Prince swooped in.

You did not see him approach. You did not sense his presence. It was as if he had teleported into existence like some eldritch being fueled purely by narcissism and misplaced confidence.

One moment, you were sitting peacefully, and the next—

He was there.

The cursed arm wrapped around your shoulders. The infuriating smirk. The unbearable arrogance wafting off him like overpriced cologne.

Oh, this was bad.

"You looked quite beautiful on the dance floor tonight," he murmured, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. "Almost like a queen-to-be."

This man had the audacity—the sheer, unholy nerve—to look at you like you were supposed to giggle and blush at that line instead of chewing through your own tongue in an effort not to commit a crime.

You had one option.

You fled.

You simply stood up and walked away, directly towards the only person in this cursed ballroom who could save you from this richly perfumed disaster of a man.

Ace.

Ace, who had perfectly timed his return with two glasses of something that was hopefully strong enough to erase the last ten seconds from your memory. Ace, who took one look at your expression, saw the absolute horror trailing behind you, and immediately understood the assignment.

Without missing a beat, he wrapped an arm around you.

Possessive. Protective. The very image of a devoted fake lover.

You had never been so grateful for his dramatic streak.

The prince, who had followed you like a particularly persistent case of food poisoning, bristled.

"Remove your arm," he commanded, his voice low and sharp.

Ace did not remove his arm.

In fact, he pulled you closer, tilting his head just slightly in a way that perfectly balanced smugness and challenge.

"Why should I take my hand off my partner?" he asked.

You, who had spent your entire life developing a survival instinct specifically for escaping situations like this, felt the distant whisper of a self-preservation alarm. That was still the crown prince, after all. Ace was many things—irritating, reckless, an absolute menace—but he was not immortal.

Fortunately, before you had to say anything, help arrived.

Across the ballroom, Riddle nodded.

To your left, Deuce gave a subtle thumbs-up.

The plan was in motion.

Phase One

From the far end of the ballroom, Trey, the royal chef, emerged, balancing an enormous cake on a silver tray. It was a towering, masterful creation—a true work of art, layers stacked high, delicately sculpted sugar decorations shimmering under the chandelier light.

A cake that, in mere moments, would be used as a weapon of mass destruction.

Trey took one fateful step.

Tripped (As planned)

And the entire cake, in all its elaborate, multi-tiered glory, toppled over.

Straight. Onto. The. Prince.

Ace immediately shielded you from the debris. His hand was firm on your back as he turned you slightly away from the chaos, and when you glanced up at him, he was grinning.

Smug. Smug. Smug.

Something in your stomach did something.

You ignored it.

The prince, meanwhile, stood there in horrified silence, cake and frosting dripping down his very expensive, very now-ruined clothes.

And then came Phase Two

Deuce, moving with the "concern" of a man who absolutely knew he was about to ruin someone’s life, rushed forward.

"Your Highness," he said earnestly, holding out his own coat, "you should remove your clothes."

The entire ballroom went silent.

The prince, still picking fondant out of his hair, turned slowly.

"What?"

"You’re covered in cake," Deuce explained, voice so painfully genuine that you nearly choked.

The prince, who absolutely would rather die than undress in public, refused.

Which was unfortunate. Because Deuce, bless his heart, did not take no for an answer.

He grabbed the prince’s jacket.

And pulled.

The ballroom collectively inhaled.

Because underneath—where there should have been the broad, powerful shoulders of a “warrior prince,” where there should have been toned muscle sculpted by years of battle and strategy—

Was nothing.

Not just nothing—an outright betrayal of physics and expectation.

The prince was built like a malnourished Victorian ghost.

His coat—once the source of his so-called “strong, masculine presence”—had been heavily padded. Not just lightly stuffed, but outright engineered to create the illusion of bulging biceps and warrior-like stature.

Biceps, it was now evident, larger than his actual head.

The ballroom gasped.

The prince, red-faced and humiliated, did what any reasonable man would do when faced with public disgrace.

He ran.

You, Ace, Deuce, and your co-conspirators high-fived.

And the next morning, Cater, journalist extraordinaire, published an excruciatingly detailed article titled:

"From Brawn to Busted: The Prince’s Muscle Mirage!"

2 down. 3 to go.

It had been a regular morning. A peaceful morning. A morning where you had intended to do nothing more than descend the stairs like a normal, functioning member of society, have breakfast, and not make a complete spectacle of yourself before noon.

The universe had other plans.

One moment, you had been confidently stepping forward, and the next—

Betrayal.

Your foot had missed the step. Gravity, that treacherous, fickle force, had seized its chance. You had plummeted like a sack of potatoes launched off a moving carriage, limbs flailing, dignity abandoning ship before you even hit the floor.

And then you hit the floor.

Hard.

Ace, your beloved thorn in the side, had stood over you, blinking, until you groaned and weakly waved a hand to signal that you were probably not dead.

And that was when he had completely lost it.

He had laughed for ten minutes straight. A full, wheezing, tears-in-his-eyes, struggling-to-breathe kind of laugh, slapping his knee like an old man who just heard the funniest joke of his life. The servants had peered around corners in confusion. One poor maid had whispered, "Should we call a doctor?" Not for you. For Ace, because he was about to rupture a lung.

"You're fine," he gasped out eventually, still giggling like a goblin. "It's just a sprain, right? But your ego— oh, your ego is never coming back from this one."

And that was how you had ended up here.

Ace had decided—without your input, without even a semblance of human decency— that you were now a particularly large handbag.

He carried you everywhere.

There was no logical reason for this. You could still walk. You had one (1) slightly messed-up ankle, you were fine. But Ace, seeing the opportunity to be the worst person alive, had simply hoisted you up like a particularly unruly sack of flour and declared, "Guess you're stuck with me, huh?"

And he had not put you down since.

Which led to your current predicament.

You had planned to meet Riddle, Trey, and Cater for tea in the gardens, because you were a person of class and refinement, not some gremlin carried around like stolen treasure. But did that stop Ace? No. Of course not.

The three of them had been waiting peacefully in the garden, cups of tea in hand, enjoying their serene afternoon—

And then Ace had strolled in, with you draped over his shoulder like a particularly expensive piece of luggage.

Silence.

The kind of silence that one might expect after watching a clown cartwheel directly into the king’s court.

Trey looked concerned. Riddle looked like he was going to spontaneously combust. Cater, to absolutely no one’s surprise, looked entertained.

And you? You had given up.

"You could just let me down, you know," you muttered, swatting at Ace’s shoulder in what you hoped was a dignified manner, though it probably looked more like a dying fish flopping around.

Ace grinned, because of course he did. "Nah. Too late. You’re furniture now."

You scowled. "Then put me near the table so I can actually reach my tea, you absolute menace—"

Ace ignored you completely.

He dropped into a chair, still holding you.

This was your life now.

Trey, who had likely woken up hoping for a quiet afternoon, cleared his throat and asked, very diplomatically, "So… sprained ankle?"

"Tragic accident," Ace said, like he was recounting the tale of a fallen soldier. "There I was, just minding my own business, when—boom. Disaster. Absolute catastrophe. They will sing songs about this one for years."

"You were laughing," you deadpanned.

"And now I'm grieving," Ace shot back.

Riddle, who had quite frankly had enough of both of you, massaged his temples.

Meanwhile, Cater, who had pulled out his camera at some point, was taking photos.

"This is gold," he muttered, already plotting his gossip column.

And then, just as you were mid-swat, trying to smack the smirk off Ace’s face while he cackled like a heathen, Riddle sighed under his breath, voice heavy with exhaustion and despair.

"They're so obvious," he muttered. "Sevens save us all."

Trey nodded solemnly. Cater just grinned.

It had been a perfectly normal day.

Which, of course, meant disaster was imminent.

You were standing in the grand hall, sipping a totally normal, non-poisoned cup of tea (probably), when you felt it. That eerie, spine-chilling sensation. The distinct, unsettling awareness that you were being watched.

Slowly, you turned your head.

A pair of glowing eyes peered at you from behind an indoor potted plant.

You sighed. Loudly. "Viscount, I can see you."

"Tch," the Viscount hissed, stepping out of his entirely inadequate hiding spot. "So perceptive… as expected of my fated beloved."

As if to ruin the illusion entirely, he tripped on his own cape and had to grab onto the plant for support. The entire thing tipped over with a thunderous CRASH.

Silence.

A servant slowly turned to look at him, unblinking.

The Viscount, sprawled across the floor, cleared his throat. "Pretend you did not see that."

You rubbed your temples. "What do you want?"

He rose to his feet dramatically—or at least, he tried. His foot got tangled in his cape again, and he had to do an awkward little hop to untangle himself before he could finally regain his dignity (what little he had left).

"I have come to confess," he intoned, "the depths of my undying love for you."

A dramatic wind blew through the hall. (Despite the fact that all the windows were closed.)

You braced yourself. This was going to be painful.

"From the moment I first laid eyes upon you," the Viscount continued, stepping forward (but nearly tripping over a rug). "I knew that you and I were bound by fate."

He gripped his chest. "Your beauty, your grace, your ability to evade me every time I attempt to watch over you from the shadows… truly, you are like a rare and precious bird, always just out of reach!"

"You mean because I run away every time you try to talk to me?" you deadpanned.

"Exactly!" he said, passionately. "Such a clever game of cat and mouse we play!"

You stared at him. He stared back, completely serious.

Cater was, once again, taking pictures of this entire trainwreck. Deuce had just pulled out a chair, grabbed a snack, and was watching like it was a soap opera.

"But no more!" the Viscount declared. "Today, I shall break this cycle and claim my rightful place at your side!"

He took a bold step forward—

—and promptly slipped on the fallen leaves from the potted plant.

There was a moment of absolute silence.

Then—THUMP.

He faceplanted straight into the marble floor.

Cater wheezed. Deuce actually fell out of his chair. Riddle was muttering something about public executions. Trey looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.

But the Viscount?

He slowly pushed himself up, nose bleeding, expression unfazed.

"A minor setback," he rasped, wiping the blood off his face with his own cape like some kind of tragic war hero. "Love… is pain."

You exhaled deeply. "Alright, you know what?" You straightened your posture, voice heavy with overwhelming sorrow. "My dear Viscount… if only you had come to me sooner."

His breath hitched. "You mean—?"

"If only fate were kinder," you continued, placing a hand on your chest. "If only my heart were not already…taken."

Fake gasps echoed through the hall.

The Viscount staggered. "No… it cannot be!"

"I am afraid so," you whispered. "For I… I have already pledged my love to…"

You spun dramatically—and pointed straight at Ace.

Ace, who immediately choked on his drink.

Ace, who had agreed to fake date you but was now staring at you like you had just struck him with a bolt of divine judgment.

Cater’s camera zoomed in on his expression.

You turned dramatically, seizing Ace’s arm with a grip that could bend steel. "My darling fiancé, my heart, my sun and stars!" you declared, throwing yourself against him like a maiden in distress. "Forgive me for not introducing you sooner—this is my betrothed, Ace Trappola!"

Ace made a sound like a cat getting drop-kicked across a room.

"WHAT."

The Viscount looked like someone had just run him through with a broadsword.

"I know," you said, voice trembling with unspeakable woe. "It seems impossible. Unthinkable. But love, my dear Viscount, is a force beyond comprehension. Who are we to fight against fate?"

Ace was still making distressed noises. Riddle looked like he was five seconds away from committing homicide.

"No—no, this cannot be!" The Viscount staggered back, clutching his chest like he had just been mortally wounded. "You would choose him over me?"

You gripped Ace’s collar, pulling him until your foreheads nearly touched. "How could I not?" you whispered. "Look at him. Look at his—his, um. His face!"

Ace mouthed: WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?

"His personality!" you continued, wildly grasping for reasons. "His—his unparalleled ability to be so Ace-like at all times!"

"I hate every single word coming out of your mouth," Ace muttered.

"And most of all," you gasped, voice hushed. "The way he carries me when I sprain my ankle. A true gentleman. A man among men."

The grand hall erupted into chaos.

Ace visibly short-circuited. "I— WHAT??"

Cater's hands visibly shook as he tried to keep taking pictures. Deuce had fully dropped his snack. The Viscount let out a dramatic, heartbroken wail.

"Engaged?!" the Viscount gasped. "But how? When?!"

You clutched Ace’s hand tighter. "Last night."

"LAST NIGHT??" Ace screeched.

You shot him a look. Ace, whose entire face was on fire, gulped and quickly switched tactics.

"Aha… aha… yeah, totally!" He threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning through his existential crisis. "We got engaged last night! Super romantic and all that! Just me and my beloved—" his voice cracked, "—who I love so much!"

You patted his chest reassuringly. "See? True love."

The Viscount staggered back. His entire world was shattering. The intensity of his emotional turmoil was so strong that he tripped over his own cape again and went tumbling down the nearby staircase.

It took twenty entire seconds for him to hit the bottom.

More silence.

Then, from below: "Love… is pain…"

Ace, still holding you, whispered, "What did you just do to me?"

You turned, smiling sweetly. "I just made you my fiancé, Ace."

Ace felt faint. His heart had been going a normal amount of fast when he agreed to fake date you, but this? This was illegal.

Meanwhile, Cater was already writing the next article.

The night had started so normally. Just you, your expensive, holy-grail skincare routine, and the unwavering determination to emerge from this ritual looking like a Renaissance painting come to life. You had your headband on, your fluffy robe wrapped around you, and the greenish-white sludge of your face mask setting into a crusty layer of beauty and self-care.

Then Ace Trappola happened.

He kicked the door open like he was the protagonist of a spaghetti western, took one look at you, and lost his entire mind.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" he gasped, immediately doubling over in laughter. "Oh my god, you look like a haunted doll."

You did not hesitate. You lunged at him like an apex predator.

And despite all his athleticism and street-rat reflexes, Ace had not been prepared for an attack from a fully masked-up, vengeance-driven individual armed with a whole tub of premium skincare.

"WAIT—NO—"

It was too late.

You straddled his lap, pressed his shoulders down onto your bed, and slathered the mask onto his stupid, laughing face with all the delicacy of an artist painting their magnum opus.

"See?" you said sweetly, coating his nose with a dramatic flourish. "Now we’re both glowing."

Ace wanted to talk back— wanted to make a joke, to tell you off, to do anything but sit here like a dumb, frozen idiot while you cupped his face, held his chin so gently, and smoothed the mask over his cheekbones like he was something precious and breakable.

And he was losing it.

Your legs were slung over his lap. His back was against your bed. Your hand was on his jaw, tilting his face however you wanted. And Ace, the very same Ace who laughed at every romantic in the kingdom for being cringe and stupid, was about two seconds away from throwing his dignity out the window and leaning into your touch.

Because all he could see, smell, and feel was you.

Your voice kept going, rambling about something stupid and inconsequential—some royal drama, a new gossip column, your thoughts on different brands of facial cleanser—but Ace couldn’t process a single word because his entire stupid, traitorous heart was screaming at him to just—just—

The revelation slammed into him like a meteor. A deadly, world-ending, history-changing impact that reduced his brain cells to rubble and left behind only the smoking wreckage of a man who was well and truly screwed.

This was not a platonic feeling.

This was the opposite of a platonic feeling.

And yet, instead of saying anything, instead of introspecting like a sane person, he just let you keep talking, let himself bask in the feeling of your fingers on his face, let himself sink into the sheer stupidity of his predicament.

By the time he could regain enough motor function to think about moving, it was too late.

You had both somehow, inexplicably, fallen asleep.

The morning arrived with the unmistakable sound of high-pitched giggles.

You cracked open a single bleary eye, your body heavy with sleep, and—oh.

Oh no.

Ace was snuggled up against your arm, his face relaxed in a way you had never seen before. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be found, replaced by something painfully soft and vulnerable.

His hair was a mess, sticking up in ridiculous angles, but somehow, it made him look even cuter. His cheek was squished against your shoulder, his arms curled slightly around yours, one leg lazily slung over yours like he had every right to use you as a makeshift pillow.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t even weird.

It felt… right.

And that was when it hit you.

Like a meteor. Like an act of god. Like the universe itself had conspired to wait until you were at your most defenseless before smacking you in the face with one singular, undeniable truth.

You were in love with Ace Trappola.

You. Loved. Ace.

How unfortunate.

You had half a mind to violently shake him awake, make him take responsibility for making you feel this way—but then he muttered something in his sleep, something unintelligible, and shifted closer, pressing his nose against your arm.

You stopped breathing.

The maids were still standing at the door, watching, waiting for you to react.

You slowly raised a hand.

And, with the elegance of a queen issuing a decree, you waved them away.

Five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

The Duke of the North was an annual disaster. Like a migrating bird that exclusively flew south to be annoying, he only visited the capital once a year—and every single time, it was to do one thing: propose to you.

This would have been flattering, except for the fact that you had been rejecting him since the dawn of time. Yet, for some reason, he was deeply convinced that, one day, you would simply change your mind upon seeing him standing there, brooding dramatically in his tailored, imported-from-a-country-that-doesn’t-even-exist coats.

He did not take rejection well.

Of course, you never answered his letters. Why would you? His correspondence was a tragic novel in real-time, each letter trying and failing to sound aloof, with absolutely zero success.

"I suppose you are busy, as I am also very busy, thinking about extremely important things, such as war and finance and not at all about why you have not replied to me in the last six months." "Should you choose to acknowledge my existence, I will, of course, consider taking time out of my incredibly packed schedule to respond (though I have already cleared next Tuesday for you, just in case)." "It is of no consequence to me whether you reply. However, I have sent my fastest courier, so you may want to respond before he breaks his legs trying to reach me before nightfall."

Pathetic.

And now, as expected, here he was again.

And as always, he came prepared.

This time, he had doubled down on his "love can be bought" philosophy.

A solid gold chair—because “only the finest furniture is worthy of your presence.”

An entirely new breed of horse, bred specifically for you, because "standard horses are beneath you."

A fleet of ships. Why? No one knew. You were not a sailor. You had never even been on a boat.

Riddle, who had been an unfortunate witness to this entire spectacle, had been slowly turning redder and redder, not out of anger, but out of sheer secondhand embarrassment. He looked like he was debating whether to intervene or let natural selection take its course.

Meanwhile, the villainess, who had been throwing you dirty looks since the Duke’s arrival, stood nearby. It didn’t take long for you to realize why—she liked him. She wanted him.

You turned to face her. Slowly. Deliberately.

Your expression said: “Lady, I don’t even want him.”

Her expression said: “You lying harlot.”

And before you could even think of clarifying that you had no interest in this walking gold reserve, the situation somehow got worse.

Ace appeared out of nowhere, grabbed your hand, and, with the audacity of a man who had never once in his life considered the consequences of his actions, declared with full confidence:

"Oh, sorry, we already got married."

Riddle choked on air.

The Duke froze, mid-proposal, like a glitching NPC in a poorly coded game. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were about to say something but his brain was actively refusing to process the information.

"You," he said hoarsely, like someone had just stabbed him in the chest. "What?"

You nodded solemnly, forcing yourself to look as heartbreakingly sincere as possible. "We even have a dog," you said.

Ace, who had waited his entire life for a bit like this, effortlessly raised the stakes.

"Two dogs," he added, gripping your hand even tighter.

You smiled sweetly, as if recounting precious memories of a long and happy marriage. "Three, actually."

The Duke’s breathing audibly shortened.

Riddle buried his face in his hands and muttered, “Oh my god, make it stop.”

"WHAT?!"

Ace sighed, the weariness of a devoted husband weighing down on him. "We also have six kids."

The Duke, who had already been dangerously close to a stroke, seemed to visibly glitch.

"SIX?! BUT IT HASN’T EVEN BEEN A YEAR!"

Ace, seeing an opportunity and deciding to go all in, dramatically gestured at a group of stray cats on the street.

"There they are," he said, with the utmost conviction.

The Duke followed his gaze, slowly, hesitantly, as if he already knew he was about to regret it.

There, on the sidewalk, were six very dirty, very chaotic stray cats.

One of them, making full eye contact with him, immediately started hacking up a hairball. Another was biting its own tail, because it had seemingly forgotten that it was attached to its body. A third was somehow climbing a wall upside down, defying both gravity and logic.

The Duke completely lost his mind.

"YOU—YOU HAVE—YOU’VE BIRTHED FELINE OFFSPRING?!"

Riddle made a strangled noise. His entire body convulsed with the effort of holding back laughter.

Ace did not hesitate. "Yeah, we just love them so much," he said, as if this were a completely normal and factual statement. "Fatherhood changes a man, y’know?"

"Don't forget our youngest," you added helpfully, pointing at a cat stuck in a flower pot.

Ace wiped an imaginary tear. "That's little Gregory. He's the smart one."

At this point, Riddle was not even trying to stop laughing anymore. He had completely given up, his usual decorum shattered beyond repair.

The Duke, however, looked like he was experiencing all five stages of grief simultaneously. His face twisted into pure devastation. He opened his mouth to say something, then immediately closed it, shaking his head in silent agony.

And then, without another word—he left.

Ace, smug beyond words, turned to you, grinning. "That went well."

Riddle, who had just witnessed a full-scale psychological takedown using nothing but sheer absurdity, wiped a tear from his eye. "You two are insane," he muttered, shaking his head.

Ace didn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the evening.

Ace doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

He’s always liked you. A little.

A manageable amount. A totally ignorable amount. The kind of dumb little crush that normal people have. The kind you lock in a box, throw into the ocean, and then blow up the ocean for good measure.

But then you woke up from your fainting accident and became his worst nightmare.

Because somehow, in that brief unconscious state, you became ten times more interesting. More chaotic. More fun.

You met his sarcasm with even faster comebacks. You encouraged his bad ideas. You had absolutely no self-preservation. You went from exasperatedly tolerating his nonsense to actively participating in it, and it was the worst thing you could have possibly done to him.

Because now?

Now he’s the one barely keeping up.

You match him perfectly—step for step, disaster for disaster. If he’s instigating, you’re escalating. If he cracks a joke, you one-up him. When he nudges you in the ribs, you shove him into a bush.

And when you grab his arm, lean in close, and whisper, "Hey, let’s cause some problems," his brain just shuts the hell down.

He’s so ruined.

And the thing is?

Ace has done this to himself.

Because when he suggested pretending to be your lover, he genuinely thought it was a great idea. A genius plan, even.

He’d fake it, get it out of his system, and then tragically move on once you found someone else.

Except now he’s holding your hand in public.

Now he’s whispering in your ear just to make you laugh.

Now he’s calling you ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’ and ‘my love’—and you play along like it’s a game, and every time, his heart detonates like an unstable potion.

At this point, if you actually fell for someone else?

Ace thinks he might literally die.

No, really. He would simply perish. Collapse. Expire. He would crumple to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been violently severed and haunt the castle as the world’s most bitter, lovesick ghost.

Cupid was somewhere, rolling on the floor, wheezing.

The other day, you smiled at him for too long, and he forgot how to walk and almost tripped.

You called him ‘Acey’ once, and he almost bit through his own tongue.

One time, you said, "I feel safest when I’m with you," and he blacked out for a full thirty seconds.

You took a sip from his drink the other day, and he had to go lie down.

And now you’re standing beside him at some stupid jewelry stall, pointing at a necklace with that gleam in your eyes, and Ace is staring at you like an absolute idiot.

He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you look under the market lights.

How he’d buy you every single piece of jewelry in the damn kingdom if you asked.

How his entire soul is in shambles because he’s standing next to you thinking, "Oh no. I actually, genuinely, idiotically am in love."

Ace Trappola, Ace ‘Fake-Dating-Was-A-Good-Idea’ Trappola, is staring at you thinking:

"Oh, Trappola. You absolute dumbass. You’re in love."

And then you turn to him, all bright-eyed and smiling, and ask, "Ace, do you think this would suit me?"

And he almost chokes on his own tongue.

Because yes.

Yes, it would suit you.

So would every other necklace in existence. So would a crown. So would the title of Supreme Ruler of the Universe, if he could somehow get that for you.

But instead of saying that, he just shoves his hands in his pockets, tries to look normal, and mutters, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. If you like it, just get it already."

And you laugh.

And Ace Trappola is never going to recover from this.

The worst of the lot finally appears.

You had dealt with the Brooding Duke who thought love could be purchased, endured the Prince who wept into his lace handkerchief at every rejection, and even managed to shake off the Yandere who believed true love was an elaborate chess game. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for the Drama King Knight.

He stood before you in the garden, his impractically long cape billowing in the completely windless afternoon, because he had, no doubt, hired a peasant to stand just off-camera fanning him.

His sword—which was capable of splitting mountains but had only ever been used to dramatically point at celestial bodies—glinted in the sun. He looked at you with eyes that had definitely rehearsed this exact expression in the mirror for three hours.

"Fairest of all," he said, already halfway through a monologue you did not want to hear. "I have braved the perils of—"

You sighed dramatically, cutting him off. "A single brush of your hand might shatter my frail mortal bones."

The Knight visibly trembled. His gauntleted hand hovered in the air like he was about to faint. "You’re right… I must protect you. From myself."

Riddle, standing beside you, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Do that. From very, very far away."

And for a moment, it seemed like that would be enough. The Knight turned away, his cape swishing dramatically. You could practically hear the imaginary background music swelling, the curtains closing, the credits rolling.

Then he whirled back around. God, why do they always whirl back around?

"But if I cannot be with you in body," he declared, voice shaking with raw emotion, "then I shall remain by your side in spirit. Our souls, forever entwined. Our hearts, eternally wed!"

You blinked. "What."

"Yes!" He threw an arm toward the heavens, pointing at the sun like he was about to challenge it to a duel. "We shall be together in spirit! No matter where you go, I shall always be watching! Always waiting! Like the moon follows the tide, I shall—"

Alright. You had tried to reject him normally. You had been reasonable. But clearly, reason had no place here.

Riddle sighed. "Do whatever you're about to do. Just… make it quick."

You nodded grimly. If this was how it had to be, then so be it.

You squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and clutched your chest like a woman stricken with a terrible, unknowable curse.

"No," you whispered. "You don’t understand."

The Knight faltered. "Understand… what?"

You threw an arm over your eyes. "I am cursed! Any man who loves me shall be turned into a… a… a goose."

Silence.

The Knight blinked at you. He opened his mouth. Closed it. His sword, which had been dramatically trembling in his grip, clattered to the ground.

"A… a goose?" he repeated.

You solemnly nodded.

And then, as prearranged, Deuce rushed off to fetch the goose.

The Knight looked between you and Deuce’s retreating figure, his expression one of dawning horror, like a man realizing he had proposed to a person who was actually an eldritch horror in disguise.

Deuce returned, struggling slightly because the goose had absolutely no interest in being part of this nonsense.

But this was not just any goose. This was the Emergency Goose.

Ace, hiding behind a tree like the gremlin he was, gave you a solemn nod.

Deuce carefully lifted the goose, revealing the final touch—the little red heart painted onto its cheek.

Riddle rubbed his temples. "I hate that you were prepared for this."

"This," you declared gravely, "is Ace."

The Knight reeled. "No. That… That cannot be!"

The goose honked.

"Yes," you continued, "he loved me once. And this was his fate."

A perfect beat of silence.

And then, from behind the tree, Ace whimpered, "Save me."

The Knight—a man who had once stood before a charging wyvern and laughed in the face of death—let out a shriek so bloodcurdling it startled every bird within a five-mile radius.

And then, cape billowing, he turned and ran.

Not a noble retreat. Not a dignified exit. No. Full-speed sprint. He shoved a confused maid out of the way. He leapt over a market stall. A small child pointed and laughed as he fled, but the Knight did not slow down, because his heart—once so full of love and poetry—was now full of terror.

Terror of you.

Terror of your goose.

Terror of the idea that at any moment, he too might sprout feathers and begin honking at the moon.

You, Ace, Deuce, Riddle, and the goose watched him vanish into the horizon.

A long silence followed.

Deuce set the goose down. The goose, finally free from its obligations, pecked him on the shin and waddled off.

Ace emerged from behind the tree, cackling. "Did you see his face?! Bro really thought I turned into a goose!"

Riddle sighed the sigh of a man who was simply too tired for this nonsense. "You two are the worst people I have ever met."

"You love us," you said.

"I do not."

Ace slung an arm over your shoulder. "You totally do."

Riddle turned on his heel and stormed off in the opposite direction.

But you saw it. You absolutely saw it.

A single, fleeting twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

Freedom. Sweet, unshackled, unburdened freedom.

No more men in capes dramatically reciting poetry at you. No more gold furniture being delivered to your doorstep. No more wild-eyed knights trying to prove their devotion by fighting literal bears in your honor. No more deranged suitors appearing at your window like particularly uncoordinated bats.

You were free.

And yet—

As you stood in the gardens, bathed in the golden glow of your well-earned peace, you felt… unsettled. Uneasy. Almost—upset.

Which made no sense. You had spent months rejecting these lunatics. You had faked engagements, lied through your teeth, orchestrated elaborate hoaxes, and weaponized a goose. You had done everything in your power to be rid of them, and it worked.

So why, in the face of your glorious victory, did you feel like you'd lost something?

And then, like a lightning bolt to the brain, it hit you.

Ace.

This meant no more holding hands in public to “convince” people. No more cheek kisses for the sake of believability. No more stupid, infuriating, wonderful Ace, grinning at you like you hung the damn moon.

It was over. Your fake dating/marriage/engagement (depending on the day and the level of your theatrics) had served its purpose.

And now it was gone.

The realization hit like a carriage crash.

You were an idiot. A complete, utter idiot.

Because somewhere between the first fake kiss in front of a suitor, the first time he laced his fingers through yours, the first time he winked at you like you were his favorite person in the entire world, you had fallen for him.

And now, standing in the wreckage of your successful campaign of repelling suitors, you realized that it was either confess right now… or take this to your grave.

Your horribly embarrassing, entirely unavoidable, painfully obvious feelings for Ace Trappola.

Ace is happy for you. He really, really is.

You’re finally free. No more unhinged declarations of love from men who have the self-preservation instincts of a lemming. No more dodging elaborate marriage proposals like a rogue in a dungeon raid. No more looking over your shoulder, expecting some cape-wearing lunatic to be reciting poetry in your honor.

Most of them think you’re taken. One thinks you’re cursed.

It worked. You’re safe. You’re free.

So why does Ace feel like he’s the one who lost?

He was kind of hoping it would take longer. Just a little bit. A few more weeks, maybe. Another month, if he was lucky. Because every day you had to pretend to be his meant another day you were in his arms. Another day he got to hold your hand in public and call it necessity. Another day he could press a kiss to your cheek without consequences. Another day of you being his.

And now? Now it was over.

And he doesn’t know how to go back.

How is he supposed to just… be your best friend Ace again? How is he supposed to look at you and not wonder what it could’ve been? How is he supposed to stand beside you like nothing has changed when everything has changed for him?

Because now, every time he looks at you, he just wants to grab you and kiss you until you’re the only thing he can taste. He wants to pull you close, whisper all the things he never let himself say. He wants everything.

But most of all, he knows—knows deep in his bones—that if you ever fall for someone else, it will destroy him.

He has to confess right now or take it to his grave.

You’re running like a madman. Like some kind of deranged romantic heroine who’s just realized she’s been in love with her childhood friend all along. Your dress is catching on every stray branch, your hair’s a mess, and you probably look like you’ve barely survived a war. But none of that matters.

Because Ace is running too.

You see him, just as wrecked as you, his coat unevenly buttoned, his hair windswept, his face flushed and frantic like he’s been sprinting for miles. And maybe he has. Maybe you both have—metaphorically and literally.

You skid to a stop, panting, staring at each other like two idiots who have finally realized the answer to a question they should’ve known all along. Ace looks at you, his breath shuddering, his eyes wide and teary like he can’t believe you’re actually here. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that you’re both half out of your minds with feelings, but you throw caution to the wind.

You’ve survived up till now on sheer audacity. Maybe it can take you further.

So you kiss him.

And for a second, there’s nothing. Just the stunned stillness of the world as you close the distance, pressing your lips to his.

And then he’s grabbing you, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His hands are tangled in your clothes, your hair, desperate, shaking, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, like he’s terrified it’s all a dream and any second now, he’ll wake up.

You pull away for air—and he chases after your lips, stealing another kiss before you can even take a full breath.

This one is deeper, slower, but just as desperate. It’s like he’s pouring everything he’s ever felt into you, like he’s afraid to stop, like he’s trying to tell you everything he never could with words. And you get it—because you feel the same way.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and shaking with emotion, you press one more soft kiss against his lips, and then you say it.

“I love you.”

Ace lets out a watery laugh, his forehead dropping against yours as he grins like a fool. His eyes are shining, and he cups your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

“What took you so long?”

And then he kisses you again.

The morning after your dramatic, borderline cinematic love confession, you and Ace walk into the usual meeting spot grinning like absolute fools.

You’re both trying to act normal, like the world hasn’t completely shifted on its axis, like Ace hadn’t kissed you breathless under the stars, like you hadn’t confessed to each other in a moment so romantic it could’ve been a grand finale scene in a novel. But normalcy is impossible because the second you walk in, hand-in-hand, everyone immediately knows.

Riddle, the most composed of the group, simply pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales sharply, and mutters, “Great Sevens, finally.” His tone is not congratulatory—it is the tone of a man who has suffered for far too long, who has borne witness to the sheer idiocy of your mutual pining and is just relieved that he no longer has to endure it.

Trey, ever the calm and collected one, gives you a small, knowing smile and nods. “Congrats,” he says simply, because Trey has probably seen this coming since the very beginning. He is the type of man who could predict the weather based on the way the wind blows and has likely bet money on this exact outcome.

Cater, on the other hand, reacts as expected.

“LET’S GO, MY MAN!” he hoots, high-fiving Ace so hard that Ace actually staggers backward. “Finally out of the friendzone, huh? This is a historic moment. A certified win.” He’s already pulling out his camera, preparing to document this for the masses, and you barely manage to swat it away in time.

And then there’s Deuce. Sweet, exhausted Deuce.

He doesn’t cheer, or exclaim, or even try to congratulate you. No, Deuce just sits there, staring at the both of you like he’s just been freed from an unspeakable burden. Like he’s been carrying the weight of Ace’s obliviousness and denial on his shoulders for so long that he no longer knows what to do with himself now that it’s over.

“I don’t have to hear him deny his feelings anymore,” Deuce whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I’m free.”

Ace shoves him.

And as your friends start heckling you, teasing you, yelling at you to get a room, you turn to Ace, grinning at him as he grins right back.

And in that moment, you can’t help but think back to the mysterious, rollerblading grandma who is the reason you even ended up here. The woman who defied all logic and physics, who sent you hurtling into this world with nothing but sheer willpower and questionable urban transportation.

You close your eyes, sending a silent thanks to her.

She was a real one.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

[izumkay]

♡TANTRUMS♡

♡Synopsis♡- When Satoru returns home with your five-year-old daughter, she excitedly shares her day—only to drop an unexpected request. Seeing her friends with their little siblings, she decides she wants one too. Now, with wide, innocent eyes, she turns to you and Satoru, waiting for an answer neither of you were prepared for.

The moment Satoru steps inside, your five-year-old daughter clings to his leg, her face scrunched in deep contemplation. You barely get a chance to greet them before she stomps over, crossing her arms.

"Mommy," she starts, her tiny voice laced with determination. "I need a baby."

You blink. "A... baby?"

"Yes!" she whines, flopping onto the couch dramatically. "All my friends have little brothers or sisters! Hana, Yuto, even that meanie Reira! But me? I have nobody! It’s not fair!"

Satoru, unhelpfully, clicks his tongue. "Tough luck, huh? Must be lonely."

You shoot him a look, but he only shrugs, smirking. Meanwhile, your daughter sits up, her big, watery eyes locking onto you like a weapon. "Please? I’ll take care of them, I promise! I’ll share my toys and— and even let them play with my dolls!"

You sigh, kneeling beside her. "Sweetheart, having a baby isn’t that simple. It's a lot of responsibility."

"But I want one!" She throws herself back again, legs kicking against the cushions. "Daddy, tell Mommy!"

Satoru hums, rubbing his chin. "Well, love, if our little princess wants a sibling…" He turns to you, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "Should we start working on it?"

You gape at him. "Satoru!"

"What?" He gestures at your daughter. "She has a solid argument. We should at least consider it."

Your daughter nods eagerly. "See?! Daddy agrees!"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. This was going to be a long night.

You inhale deeply, gathering every ounce of patience in your being. "Sweetheart," you try again, voice soft, "having a baby isn’t just about wanting one. Babies cry a lot, need a lot of care, and—"

"I love babies!" she interrupts, sitting up on her knees. "I want to take care of one! I can do it, I promise!"

Satoru, the enabler, nods solemnly beside her. "She’s got a point. She’s very responsible."

You deadpan. "She once put her cereal bowl in the fridge because she thought it would turn into ice cream."

"Creative thinking," Satoru counters, completely unfazed.

Your daughter gasps, flailing dramatically. "Mommy, pleaseee!" Her tiny hands clutch at your arm, eyes glassy and pleading. "I’ll be the best big sister in the whole world! I'll teach them how to color and— and— I won’t even get mad if they mess up my toys!"

You raise a brow. "Really? You cried for an hour when your teddy bear fell on the floor."

She pouts, crossing her arms. "That was different."

Satoru leans back, arm draped over the couch as he watches, far too entertained. "Sounds like she’s pretty serious about this," he muses, grinning. Then, in a stage whisper, he adds, "And between us, I wouldn’t mind trying for another one…"

Your entire face heats up. "Satoru!"

"What?" He feigns innocence, winking at your daughter. "Mommy’s just shy. But don’t worry, princess, I’ll convince her."

Your daughter claps excitedly. "Yay! Daddy's the best!"

Oh, this was a conspiracy.

Satoru stretches, turning to you with a lazy grin. "So, sweetheart, what do you say? Want to give our little princess a teammate?"

You exhale slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose as your daughter bounces beside you, eyes wide with hope.

This was going to be an extremely long night.

You sigh, shaking your head as your daughter clings to your arm, eyes still wide with expectation. Satoru chuckles beside you, his amusement evident, but as you glance at him, his expression softens.

“Sweetheart,” you start gently, brushing a stray hair from your daughter’s face, “having a baby isn’t just about playing together. It’s a big responsibility, and Mommy and Daddy have to be ready too.”

Her lower lip trembles. “But I am ready…” she mumbles.

Satoru reaches over, ruffling her hair with a small smile. “You’d be the best big sister, no doubt about that,” he murmurs. “But sometimes, these things take time.”

She huffs, puffing her cheeks. “I don’t like waiting.”

Satoru gasps dramatically. “What?! My daughter—impatient? Impossible!” He tickles her side, making her giggle despite herself. “Wherever did you get that from?”

You shoot him a look. “Definitely not from me.”

He winks, but then his fingers find yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze. When you turn to him, he’s not teasing anymore—his gaze is steady, warm, and understanding.

“Hey,” he murmurs so only you can hear. “No pressure, alright? This is your choice too. If you’re not ready, that’s okay.”

Your heart melts at his sincerity.

You exhale, squeezing his hand back. “I know.”

Your daughter watches the silent exchange, then sighs dramatically before crawling into your lap, small arms wrapping around you. “Okay… but if I have to wait, can I at least have ice cream?”

Satoru gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “A genius bargain! Negotiation skills on point!”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile. “Fine. But only one scoop.”

Your daughter squeals in victory, and Satoru beams. “Guess it’s a win for everyone, huh?”

As he presses a kiss to your temple, his touch lingering just a little longer, you realize—no matter what the future holds, you’d never have to face it alone♡

A/N -I hope you liked this cute lil drabble that had been on my mind for a while🤭♡

—Check out my Masterlist for more!

Divider credit!- @cafekitsune

[inkandapex]

You're worth it

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris and Y/N share an undeniable connection, but the pressures of F1 and personal hesitation have kept them in the "just friends" zone. Despite their close bond, an unspoken tension hangs between them, each moment charged with what-ifs. With a little nudge from fate, aka, their best friend Max, the two are pushed to give things another shot. Will Lando find the courage to make his move, or will Y/N slip through his fingers, forever just out of reach?

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: swearing, light angst, mentions of anxiety.

Lando’s season had been anything but smooth sailing. Sure, the car was leagues ahead of where it had been, delivering near-constant podiums and even his long-awaited first race win. He was sitting second in the championship, closer to the title than he’d ever been. On paper, it was a dream season. But pressure had a funny way of twisting even the sweetest moments into something suffocating.

Lando had always been good at managing the weight of the sport—keeping his mind sharp, his body stronger. But even the best-built machines showed signs of wear. His friends saw it in the way his laughter didn’t reach his eyes. His team noticed the uncharacteristic silence between debriefs. His fans, ever watchful, caught glimpses of something heavier behind the usual smiles.

Now, with a rare break in the chaos, it was clear that he didn’t just need rest. He needed reinforcements.

“The food I ordered half an hour ago? Yeah… they just told me the restaurant’s actually closed now,” Lando muttered

Max blinked, mouth slightly open. “So… they told you there’s no food, and you died on Tarkov? That’s a double fucking shitter, my jeez.” He dragged a hand down his face, visibly pained for his best mate.

Lando let out a defeated laugh. “Hasn’t exactly been the best couple of months for me, really.”

Max exhaled. “Mate, you need a personal chef or something. You’ve got too much on your plate.”

“I actually have nothing on my plate right now, funnily enough.”

“Right, well—eating weeks-old frozen food from your fridge isn’t exactly the fix, is it?” Max sighed, already knowing that’s exactly what Lando was about to do.

"Don't really have much of a choice now don't I mate?"

"Chat's saying you need a girlfriend" Max states rather matter of factly

"You could say that again"

-----------------------------------------------------------

A series of persistent knocks, followed by the sharp buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand, dragged Lando from the depths of sleep. He groaned, squinting against the soft morning light that seeped through the curtains, his brain sluggish as he reached for his phone.

A slight frown tugged at his face when he saw the caller—one of his closest friends. A couple of missed calls from both them and Max F. only deepened his confusion. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pulled his hoodie over his head and shuffled toward the door, answering the call as he went.

“Y/N? I just woke up—sorry, could you give me a minute? I’ll call you back, someone’s at the—” He stopped mid-sentence, mid-step.

Because standing on the other side of the door, phone still pressed to their ear, was Y/N. Bags in hand.

"Hey… Max told me you knew I was coming. Him and P just dropped me off. They’re out running a couple of errands," Y/N said, ending the call and slipping her phone into her pocket.

Lando blinked at her, still processing. "No, actually, he didn't. I didn’t even know he was coming here. Did you just get here, or?"

"I landed about two hours ago," she said with a soft laugh. "Been standing here for the past twenty minutes, though."

"Shit, my bad, Y/N. I really didn’t know." Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair, his brain scrambling to recall any moment where Max might have maybe mentioned this.

"Hey, it’s all good! Sorry for dropping by all of a sudden—I really should’ve reached out beforehand anyway. I just thought you and Max had already sorted it out."

"What? No, Y/N, don’t apologize, silly." Lando finally snapped out of his trance and stepped aside. "Come in—fuck, I mean, the apartment’s a mess, but make yourself at home." He quickly reached for some of her bags, ushering her inside before shutting the door behind them.

"What exactly did Max say?" Lando finally asked, still scrambling to pick up the mess scattered across his living room. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you, but this is just so... out of the blue."

"Honestly? He was worried," Y/N admitted, grabbing a few stray items to help. "Said you didn’t seem to be doing too well. Thought maybe you could use some company during the break. Listen, Lando, I came here thinking you knew about this. I completely understand if you’d rather be alone right now—I know you’re busy and all—"

"No!" Lando cut in, pausing mid-cleanup. His expression softened, and for the first time since opening the door, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. "I'm… I'm really glad you're here. Max is right. It hasn’t been easy." He exhaled, offering her a small, tight-lipped smile. "Thank you. For being here. I really appreciate it."

Then, with a playful tilt of his head, he spread his arms. "You gonna hug me, or are you just gonna stand there?"

Y/N let out a small laugh, relief washing over her as she finally saw that familiar spark in his eyes. Taking a few steps forward, she let Lando wrap her in a tight hug, his hold warm, grounding. Exactly what he hadn’t realized he needed.

------------------------------------------------------------

The first day of Y/N being there was more housekeeping than anything else. Between cleaning up Lando’s apartment, clearing out the fridge, and fixing up the guest room, the day passed in a blur of chores. By the time Max and P finally arrived, the boys volunteered to head out and pick up some late lunch—partly because there was absolutely nothing to eat at Lando’s place, and partly so Max could finally discuss the sly plan he had cooked up.

A heavy silence filled the car as Lando gripped the wheel, his knuckles tightening against the leather.

"You’re awfully quiet," Max finally said, side-eyeing his best friend from the passenger seat.

"Oh yeah? Wonder why," Lando bit back. "Maybe ‘cause my best friend decided to go behind my back and plan shit without telling me. The fuck were you thinking not mentioning she was coming over to stay?"

"Mate, it was all in good conscience," Max said with an exaggerated sigh. "Plus, what happened between you two… it was months ago—"

"Exactly!" Lando snapped. "I haven’t even been back home to talk about it since. Fuck’s sake, Max… it’s weird enough I haven’t seen her in ages, but springing this on me? That’s insane, even for you."

Max groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Why can’t the two of you just admit you like each other like the grown, mature adults you supposedly are and get on with it? It’s honestly exhausting."

"You know why."

"I actually don’t. Please, do explain. I’d love to hear whatever shit excuse you’ve got lined up. Go on then."

Lando let out a slow, tired sigh. "I’m busy, she’s busy. I can’t just drag her along with me and make her leave everything behind so we can be together. And you know how the media is, Max. I don’t want her dealing with all that hate. You’ve seen how bad it gets."

Max scoffed. "And what do you think she just did? She dropped everything to be with you when you needed her, yeah? Her choice. She’s already doing work at Quadrant—her own volition, might I add—on top of her own career. And might I remind you, you were the one who didn’t want to go through with it. From what I heard, she was willing to make it work."

"Yeah?" Lando let out a dry laugh. "From what you heard?"

Max smirked. "Fine. P told me."

"Lando, mate. If it all goes to shit—not that I think it will—I’m sure you’ll sort it out. She cares about you. And I know you feel the same way about her."

Lando sighed, pulling into the parking lot and turning off the engine. He leaned back against the seat for a moment before finally looking over at Max.

"I know you have good intentions," he admitted. "And despite how insane this is, I do appreciate it. I’ll… see where it goes." Then, with a smirk, he nodded toward the door. "Now go pick up the food, ‘cause I’m fucking starving."

Max narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at him as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "This conversation is not over, by the way."

Lando just laughed, shaking his head as Max climbed out of the car.

------------------------------------------------------------

Lando woke up to the unfamiliar yet oddly comforting sounds of pots clanking and the scent of food filling his apartment. It was so foreign that, for a second, he thought he was dreaming. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled out of his room, hair a complete mess, barely awake.

"Morning," Y/N greeted, smiling as she wiped her hands on a tea towel. "There’s breakfast on the counter. I’ve got meals sorted out for the rest of the week—followed your diet, so don’t worry."

Lando blinked at her, then at the kitchen, which now looked like a fully stocked catering service. "It’s 9 in the fucking morning, Y/N. What time did you get up for all this?"

"Like… 6:30?"

"Y/N"

"What? I have jet lag."

Lando squinted at her. "We’re in Monaco. London is one hour behind."

"Okay, fine," she sighed. "I wanted to make sure I had it ready for you. It’s nothing, really—it didn’t take me too long."

"Nothing?" Lando gestured at the sea of neatly packed containers. "My kitchen looks like McLaren hospitality right now."

"It’s not a big deal, Lan, really, I—"

Lando didn’t let her finish. He reached out, gently grabbing her hand and stopping her from cleaning. "Could you—please slow down for a sec?" His voice was softer now, his brows furrowing as he tilted her chin up so she’d look at him. "Y/N, you don’t have to do all this. You don’t have to take care of me."

Lando sighed deeply, his arms instinctively pulling Y/N into a tight hug. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his heart heavy. "I don't deserve you."

Y/N’s arms wrapped around him, her voice soft as she spoke, her thumbs tracing gentle circles on his back. "You have me, either way"

Lando pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression clouded. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the words. "Look, Y/N... we can't. I can't do this right now. What I said about us—about this, months ago... that's still how I feel. I like you... a lot, trust me, I do. But this is too much, and I can't possibly ask you to—"

He couldn’t keep eye contact, his gaze drifting as if the weight of everything was too much to bear.

Y/N took a step back but stayed close, her eyes searching his. She offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I get it, Lan. I’m here for you. As a friend." She took a deep breath. "What I said, about me wanting to be here... to do this with you... I meant that too. I still feel that way. I told you I can wait. You’re worth it."

"You two done being sappy, or should I give you a couple more minutes?" Max's voice echoed through the apartment, making both Lando and Y/N jump and scramble to step away from each other in a panic.

"You little shit, how long have you been stood there listening? You fucking weirdo." In a swift motion, Lando grabbed the nearest object, a spatula, and tossed it across the room. It flew past Max’s head, narrowly missing him as he stood frozen in the middle of the living room.

"So sorry, guys. I told him not to come in without knocking." P finally steps into the apartment, giving Max a pinch on his side. Max let out an exaggerated yelp, squirming away from her with a pained expression.

"Ow! Everyone’s so violent this morning," Max groaned, rubbing his side as P smirked, clearly satisfied with herself.

"You're ridiculous. Just gonna run to the bathroom real quick then we can have breakfast and plan the rest of our day" Lando shook his head with a groan, but a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaves the room

Max took the chance to walk over to Y/N, who was quietly setting the table for breakfast. "You good?" he asked, his voice low, careful not to let Lando hear.

Y/N glanced up at him with a soft, knowing smile. "Take a wild guess, Max. Bet you heard enough to figure out how I'm doing right now." She let out a quiet laugh, but it was tinged with something he couldn’t quite place, defeat, maybe?

Max took a breath, his tone shifting to something gentler, more understanding. "Look, he... you know how he is. As much as I want this for the two of you, you don’t have to wait for him. He can’t just expect you to be there until he’s finally ready. No one’s gonna hold it against you." His voice dropped.

Y/N shook her head slightly, her smile softening. "You’re really sweet, Max, but I’m okay. I promise." She was careful, though, making sure her words felt sincere.

Max gave her a small, thoughtful nod. "Just trying to look out for the two of you is all."

"I know," Y/N replied. She didn’t need Max’s concern to know what was best for her, but it was comforting, knowing that someone understood.

------------------------------------------------------------

Several races had passed since Y/N was last at Lando's apartment. Despite the distance, they’d kept in close contact—calls, texts, little check-ins whenever they could steal a moment. Lando was clearly doing better, each conversation revealing just how much he’d grown over the past few weeks.

Now, it was the Singapore Grand Prix weekend, and Y/N had finally managed to take some time off work. She’d been counting down the days until she could see Lando again, her excitement mingled with the kind of nervous energy that had been building up ever since she booked her flight. The anticipation was almost unbearable, especially when she considered how much her feelings for him had grown since their last conversation.

Despite the distance, despite all the unsaid things, she found herself thinking about him more and more, how his laugh had sounded over the phone, how his presence felt like a comfort when they’d been together. But now, standing outside of Mclaren's hospitality, waiting for Lando to step out his driver room after finishing free practice, everything felt good.

"Y/N! Hey, haven’t seen you around in a while. How have you been?" Zach, a close friend of Oscar Piastri, and someone Y/N had become friends with, walked over with a smile.

"Zach, it’s good to see you. I’m great, just been busy with work is all. The car seems good, Lando and Oscar are driving really well too" Y/N replied with a warm smile, happy to see a familiar face in the paddock.

"Things are looking great. We’re doing really well in the constructors, too. You waiting for Lando?" Zach asked, leaning against the railing casually.

"Mhmm, I’m catching a ride with him back to the hotel. He texted me, he’d be out in a bit." Y/N explained, glancing down at her phone to check for any updates from Lando.

"Right... listen. Are you free any time this weekend? Maybe even after the race? I was thinking—"

"Ready to go?" Lando's voice cut in, and he walked over to the pair, bag slung over his shoulder and phone in hand. "Oh, hey man, sorry, we gotta go. Got some friends waiting for us."

Zach smiled, stepping back. "Oh, don’t let me hold you back. I’ll see you around, Y/N. You still got my number, right?"

"Yep, I’ll catch up with you next time," Y/N said, giving Zach a friendly nod.

"Perfect. Hope you enjoy the weekend. It’s great having you back in the paddock," Zach said with a grin, stepping in to give Y/N a quick hug before patting Lando’s arm as he walked past. "Great stuff today, man. See you around."

Lando raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with slight bitterness as they walked toward the parking lot. "Didn’t know you two were close like that."

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, hello to you too, Lando. So great to see you after months, feels fantastic to finally be here with you."

Lando chuckled, though it was clear there was a hint of jealousy in his voice, "I didn’t mean it like that, just... you two seemed pretty chummy." He smirked at her, trying to play it off.

Y/N leaned back in the passenger seat, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't know, I actually think he's pretty cute."

Lando almost slammed the door shut in frustration, his face twisting into a scoff. "Cute? Right."

"What? You jealous?" Y/N teased, barely able to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm not," Lando grumbled, eyes focused on the road but his jaw clenched slightly.

"You so are. Your ears are red."

"I'm not" he repeated, his voice tinged with defensiveness.

"So you don't mind if I go out for dinner with him after the race then?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, her tone light but with a little edge, just to push his buttons. It was playful, but they both knew the boundaries—they weren’t together, not officially.

"No."

"No, you don't mind?" Y/N repeated, pressing him further.

"No, you can't" Lando snapped back, his hand gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

"Why?" she asked innocently, though a knowing smile played at her lips.

"Cause then you'll miss my victory party," Lando replied with a sly smirk, glancing over at her briefly.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed. "Oh wow, cocky now, are we?" She let out a laugh, though deep down, she couldn't ignore how his confidence was somehow making him all the more attractive.

"Wow" Lando gasped dramatically, glancing over at her with exaggerated disbelief. "You don't think I'll win this weekend? You're breaking my heart, darling."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Don't get too cocky, Norris. The race isn't over until it's over."

"True," he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I like to think I’ve got this in the bag. You better be there to celebrate my win, Y/N."

She met his gaze, her playful teasing giving way to something softer, something more real. "We'll see," she replied, a small but genuine smile on her face. "But if you win, I'll begin to think I'm your lucky charm."

Lando nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. "You just might be."

------------------------------------------------------------

"We’ve got this in the bag, Lando. Stick to Plan A, do what you do best, and we’ll take care of the rest. Focus on the drive, and if anything shifts, we’ll adjust. We’re counting on maximum points from you two tonight." Will, Lando's race engineer, pauses, his eyes locking with Lando's, waiting for confirmation after his brief but crucial words.

"Lando."

"Yeah yeah. Maximum points, drive fast, got it." Lando mutters, his response flat, his attention half there. As important as this race is, his mind keeps drifting back to Y/N. She’s in the garage, talking with Zach. His Y/N. The thought pulls at him in a way he can’t shake.

Will’s voice cuts through the haze. "I need 100% of your focus, Lando. The race starts in 30." He hands him his earplugs, but Lando’s gaze is distant.

"Yep, heard." Lando mutters again, his tone quieter, his mind still elsewhere as he turns to leave, the weight of his thoughts lingering like an anchor.

Y/N and Zach were in the middle of an easy, lighthearted conversation. Lando, across the garage, could only watch, his gaze sharpening as he noticed how comfortable Y/N and Zach looked together. The laughter between them, the way they stood too close, it ate at him.

"Y/N, can I talk to you for a minute?" Lando’s voice cut through the air, direct and intense, as he strode toward them.

Y/N looked up at him, surprised but giving him a warm smile. "Yeah, what’s up? You nervous?" She didn’t get up from her seat, still in that calm, relaxed mood.

"Alone" Lando said, his tone sharper now, as the urgency in his words broke through.

"Oh—yeah, of course." She rose to follow him, a furrow crossing her brow, concerned by the intensity in his eyes. They walked towards a quieter corner of the garage, far enough from prying eyes and cameras.

As soon as they were alone, she looked at him. "Is everything okay? Do you need me to call Max or—"

Lando didn’t give her a chance to finish. "I don’t like this. You and him, talking... being all flirty. I don’t like it." The words spilled out of him faster than he could stop them, relief and frustration flooding his chest. It was all coming out at once.

Y/N blinked, trying to keep her voice steady. "I’m not flirting, Lando. He’s just a friend."

Lando’s frustration reached its peak. "I’m just a friend, Y/N! Fuck’s sake... I can’t get in the car like this, not with this on my mind. Not like this." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Hey, Lan. What’s going on? You wanted this—actually, no, you didn’t want anything right now, did you? You said so yourself. I’m not doing this to make you jealous or get back at you, He's just a friend. That’s it."

But Lando shook his head, his voice shaking with vulnerability. "I don’t know what I want, okay! But seeing you... with him? I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I can’t lose you."

A soft laugh escaped her lips, though it held a touch of sadness. She gently took his hands in hers, stopping him from messing up his hair further. "You’re not gonna lose me, you silly boy."

Lando looked at her, searching her eyes for some sign that she understood, that she felt the same pull. "One kiss. Give me one kiss. Let’s pretend nothing else matters. Just right now, right here, with you. One kiss before I go." His voice was a whisper, full of longing and desperation.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she met his gaze, her eyes softening. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing across his jawline as she spoke quietly, almost to herself. "Nothing else matters... I don’t have to pretend. You’re all I want, Lando. Why can’t you see that?"

Lando exhales quietly, his fingers grazing her cheek as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. They stand close, the world around them fading into the background, neither in a rush to break the moment. Their eyes meet, lingering, only flickering downward for the briefest second before finding each other again.

"You take corners faster than this—are you gonna kiss me, or should I send in a request for DRS?" Y/N teases, tilting her head with a smirk.

Lando leans in, closing the small space between them, his lips pressing firmly against hers. It’s not their first kiss, there had been fleeting moments before, small pecks here and there, brief touches exchanged in passing, but this is different. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Their movements are unhurried, deliberate. It’s a kiss that speaks of everything unspoken, deep and certain, carrying the weight of something that had been waiting to happen.

She’s the first to pull away, though neither of them really want to. But reality tugs at Lando, he has somewhere to be.

Before stepping back, he presses a lingering kiss to her lips, another lighter one at the corner of her mouth. His lips brush her cheek, then her forehead, a quiet farewell without words. When he finally pulls away, he catches the flush creeping up her neck and smirks.

"I'm quick when it matters," he murmurs. "But some things are worth taking my time on."

-----------------------------------------------------------

It was the kind of weekend that felt almost predestined, Lando wins in Singapore, by a massive 20-second gap to Verstappen in P2. But even with the trophy in his hands and the roar of the crowd in his ears, his eyes searched for only one thing.

And there she was.

Among the sea of faces, hers stood out effortlessly, beaming with pride, hands clapping in celebration. The victory was unforgettable, but this moment, seeing her there, cheering for him, was the one he’d carry with him forever.

Lando could hardly sit still. He’d been rocking on the balls of his feet, barely paying attention to the post-race interviews with Oscar, his mind already somewhere else. The second the cameras cut off, he was up, grabbing his things in record time, making Oscar chuckle at his urgency.

"Word in my garage is you’ve got yourself a little lucky charm now," Oscar smirked, watching as Lando fumbled with his phone, already dialing Y/N.

"Word spreads fast, huh?"

"Finally made a move?"

"Yeah, took me long enough," Lando laughed, giving his teammate a quick pat on the back as he pressed his phone to his ear.

The call barely rang before her teasing voice filled his speaker. "Why hello there, champ. Miss me already?"

A grin stretched across Lando’s face, warmth creeping up his chest. "Always, baby. Where are you? Need my post-race kiss, like, now."

"On your left."

Lando spun around, immediately spotting her seated outside the motorhome with Max and P. He didn’t even bother ending the call properly, just stuffed his phone in his pocket and made a beeline for her.

"There he is! Mr. 20-second lead. Mate, you were proper flying—"

Max didn’t even get to finish before Lando stopped behind Y/N’s chair, tilting her chin up and leaning down to kiss her. This one deeper, lingering, completely unbothered by the fact that they had company.

"Shit—when did this happen?" Max gaped, his arm tightening around P as if he needed something to ground him.

"Just before the race. Can’t believe you’re only finding out now, thought the whole paddock knew by now," Lando chuckled, hands rubbing Y/N’s shoulders as she sat there, visibly flustered, still adjusting to the attention.

"Well, damn. About time."

Y/N glanced up at Lando, still a little dazed, but the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, made her forget about everything else. He pressed one last kiss to the top of her head before leaning down, voice just for her.

“You’re my good luck charm.”

She laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “Guess that means I have to stick around then, huh?”

Lando grinned, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Oh, baby, you’re not going anywhere.”

[seumyo]

the art of loving bakugou katsuki’s name.

You loved his name.

You remembered the first time you had heard it—Bakugou Katsuki. It wasn’t an uncommon name, but it was his. His name was easy to remember, sharp on the tongue, and impossible to forget.

And that’s the funny thing about names, isn’t it? No names were ever truly the same. It could be written with the same characters, spoken in the same pronunciation, but the person behind them made it unique.

His was different.

His was his.

Getting to know Bakugou’s name had been one of the most exciting parts of meeting him. The way it rolled off your tongue the first time you said it out loud. The way he grumbled at you when you got too familiar too quickly, scowling at you and scolding you—telling you to say it right or don’t bother at all.

You grew to whisper it in the quiet of study halls, writing it absentmindedly in the margins of your notes when you were too exhausted to focus. You had yelled it across battlefields when you were still young and reckless, had murmured it in moments of vulnerability when it was just the two of you—when the world felt smaller, safer—because he shared the world with you.

It softened over the years, how you said his name. How he let you call him Katsuki when no one else could.

You loved his name.

Because it had been yours to say back then.

And now, he shared it with someone else.

It was a cruel thing, really. To love a name, to cherish it, to include it in a solemn prayer every night just as you’re about to fall asleep, only to have it slip through your fingers.

The wedding was beautiful. Grand, as expected for someone like Bakugou.

The kind of celebration is fitting for a man who had always been larger than life, someone who fought hard and loved even harder. The bride—his wife—was stunning, radiant in a way that made you feel something you didn’t want to name.

“Do you, Bakugou Katsuki, take your—“

His name sounded different now.

You had imagined this moment before, once, a long time ago. Not like this—never like this.

You forced a smile when they exchanged vows, when they kissed, when the crowd erupted in cheers.

You lifted your glass when it was time for the toasts and laughed when it was appropriate.

You played the part of an old friend, a guest who had long since moved on.

Because today was all about him. Not you.

But when the celebration stretched into the late hours, you found yourself stepping out, out into the quiet of the evening just outside the reception hall. You had too many thoughts and too little drinks acquired at the mini bar to drown out this incessant feeling.

You closed your eyes and whispered his name once, just to hear it. Yours.

“[Last Name]?”

Your breath hitched.

You turned, and there Bakugou Katsuki was—standing at the threshold, half in shadow, looking at you the same way he always had. His tie was slightly undone, and his suit jacket draped over his arm. He looked tired. But more than that, he looked at you like he still knew you.

Like he still saw you.

That version of you that only he met and got to know well.

“Hi,” you greeted. “Congrats on getting married, by the way. All my congratulatory messages are in your gifts.”

He scoffed, though it’s quiet, barely audible.

“Right.”

. . .

His gaze lingered, searching. Searching for something that he will never find.

“You okay?”

“Of course. It’s your wedding day. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The answer was too quick, too . . . prepared.

Bakugou didn’t retaliate right away. Instead, he stepped closer, just enough that you could see the way his brows furrowed, the way his jaw tensed.

“[Last Name]—“

“Katsuki.”

His name left your lips before you could stop it, like muscle memory. Like a prayer.

You had intended to call him by his last name. A formality. A distance.

Bakugou stiffened.

You had spent years getting to know his name, understanding every way it could be spoken. The anger in it, the laughter, the quiet tenderness in the dead of night.

And now, for the first time, you didn’t know how to say it.

Because words shouldn’t hurt, they shouldn’t feel like your throat’s being repeatedly stabbed.

. . .

“I never wanted things to end like they did.”

You let out a slow breath. “Neither did I.”

But it had ended. And you both knew why.

Careers. Distance. Bad timing.

Then it all just got too much to fight for.

Because love, even if it’s meant to fight for, gets exhausting when you can no longer love that person the way you used to.

And no matter the reason, endings were still endings. It can’t be erased and rewritten. It isn’t a story on paper that can be edited with a simple pencil and eraser.

“You ever think about—“

“I don’t.” Not anymore, at least, you wanted to add.

Because thinking about it now—on his wedding day—is like disregarding all that he made for himself after you. Disregarding his wife, the one he vowed to love ‘til hell freezes over and whatnot.

“You should go,” you smiled once you heard his wife calling his name.

He lingered for a second longer, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with a nod, he turned and walked away.

You watched as Bakugou joined his wife, the woman who now shared his name, the name of the person you had loved with every fiber of your being.

The name you thought you’d share with him—and once dreamed to keep as yours.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[littlestl4mb]

running errands with nerdy boyfriend luigi???? 😭

YURRRRR

to be honest, i think it would be luigi’s favorite thing to do with you. i think he’d really like the simplicity and domesticity of it. he doesn’t care much for going on fancy dinner dates, or going on expensive couple vacations together. no, those superficial milestone-markers that other couples like to boast, they don't do much for him. never have. instead, he finds happiness on a simple saturday morning in spring, when the air is still a little brisk but it’s teasing the approaching summer’s warmth. and most importantly, he’s on his way to see you. 

he’s got the biggest grin on his face as he’s walking up to your door. most nights you two spend together. whether he’s at your place or you’re at his place (i think he has a preference for spending the night at your place though. your home smells like you; lavender and vanilla. and he loves your cozy bedroom. he might criticize the excessive amount of pillows on your bed but he secretly loves flopping down onto them and napping). but last night you spent the night separated because you went to hang out with some friends and didn’t get back home until late, and he wanted to work on some program he’s been developing. safe to say, he missed you a lot. and it’s no secret you missed him either. 

when you open the door for him, he casually strolls in. 

“hi, gigi,” you hum and press a sweet kiss to his cheek, your hands full of the laundry that you’re about to throw into the washing machine. he grins sheepishly and blushes. no matter how much you kiss him, it always makes him a little flustered still. he shuts the door behind him, and then moves to the living room. he sets his backpack down, and then pulls out a little notepad in a very routine manner. you’re bumbling around the apartment, trying to tidy it up before you head out for the day. 

he starts writing a list of everything you usually do on saturdays together:

1. take car to car wash  2. get groceries for the week  3. drop box off at post office that y/n has procrastinated sending for the last 3 weeks. do NOT let her say “we can just do it next week” this time.

mid writing his list, he looks over at you and raises his eyebrows. “is there anything else we have to do today? or just the usual stuff?” he hums. 

you pause and put your hand on your hip as you think about it. 

“hmm. i don’t think…- oh yeah! i need to go to cvs and pick up some stuff too. ran out of face cream,” you nod your head. with a double click of his pen, he jots it down. 

“okay, what all do we have on the list?” you inquire, joining him by his side to look over his shoulder.

“i think i’m fine on groceries this week. can always get ‘em later if i need them. you can cross that off” you point at the second item on the list, your hands lightly resting on his shoulders. 

luigi guffaws, out of disbelief. though, he doesn’t say anything at first. instead, he stands up from the couch and turns the corner to the kitchen. the distinct rattling of the fridge door opening, followed by the thudding of the cabinet doors closing and opening is your answer to the question you didn’t ask. 

you see his hand poke out from the kitchen door, a graceful wave of his fingers beckons you forward. you already know the look on his face without having to see him. when you enter the modest kitchen, he has the refrigerator door propped open. a wrinkle in his forehead forms from his eyebrows being raised out of such skepticism.

“yeah, you don’t need to go to the grocery store, baby? there’s like, 5 cans of diet coke in here and some… nasty old bananas.” he frowns as his hand gestures to the mostly empty space in the fridge. 

“okay, fine, lu. we’ll go grocery shopping.” you huff. it’s an argument you’ve had one too many times already. one that you have never won, too. and well, you might not know everything, but you certainly know it’s no use arguing with an engineer. at least not about this.

“i’m driving” luigi deadpans while you two make your way out of your apartment. it’s no surprise, considering the fact that the man has been in the car with you one too many times where you’ve nearly totaled your car. there was the time you were driving into town, and a little puppy on the sidewalk caught your attention and you veered into another lane. that caused a slew of cars honk at you… oh, and there was the other time when you backed into a pole while parallel parking, which luckily only left a small scratch- but gave luigi a heart attack all the same. 

yeah, so long as luigi could help it, you were the designated passenger princess. 

“okay, fine. can we at least go get coffee first?” you pout up at him as he opens the passenger side door of his car for you. 

“well, yeah. thought that was a given,” he says as closes the door and gets in on his side. 

luigi also likes driving because he likes to compute the most simple and efficient route possible. he thinks of it as an equation. and you really don’t mind him being your personal chauffeur. where all you have to worry about is what songs you want to play next on the stereo. 

when you guys get to the post office after washing your car and getting coffee, luigi is the one who carries the box in for you. so all you have to do is tell the clerk the address you’re sending the package to. he does that often: carrying your things for you. when you go to bookstores, he carries around the pile of books you want to purchase on top of his own. and the same thing will probably happen later when you go to cvs; he’ll carry your little skincare products and bottles of vitamins for you too.

after you’ve finished up at the post office, luigi tugs out his little notebook. he checks off the post office, which is under the crossed out ‘1. go to car wash’. 

the next stop is indeed the pharmacy. luigi is doddling along your side, his eyes wide with curiosity as he looks over the multitude of face lotions. though, that doesn’t distract him from the topic at hand. he’s been prattling on about some substack article he read discussing AI today, and also a podcast that he listened to last night while he was up coding. most of the jargon he uses flies right over your head, but he does his best to explain it to you. and even though you still struggle to understand why it’s so important, you just like hearing him talk about something he’s so passionate about. you get a little smug smile on your face, and luigi quirks up an eyebrow and goes, “what?” 

all you can do in response is shake your head and look away, trying to suppress your coy grin with a small, “nothing.” 

“no, seriously. what are you smiling about? i know AI doesn’t make you this happy, baby,” 

“you’re right, it doesn’t. but i like hearing you talk about it. it’s cute,” you’d shrug. 

and luigi— really!— no matter how long you two’ve known each other, still gets bashful sometimes when you compliment him out of the blue. he’s got that nerd in him, after all. 

and after you’ve finished at the pharmacy, you make your last stop for the day: target. you convince luigi to go there instead of the boring grocery store. much to luigi’s protest too— he knows it’s an excuse to mingle through aisles of things you don’t really need. ‘going to target instead of the actual grocery store decreases our percentage of efficiency so much, y/n’ he usually groans. but for him, he knows that argument is the losing one. something he’ll never win on because you’re stubborn. and you’re cute when you’re pouting and begging him too with those big rounded out eyes of yours. plus, he thinks it’s endearing when you bumble through aisles and pick up random things and show them off to him as if its the most fascinating thing in the world. and anyways, if you two are really on a tight schedule, he’ll pull out the boyfriend move of jokingly placing his hand on the scruff of your neck while directing you towards where you’re supposed to go.

but you two have all the time in the world today, so he pushes the cart for you as you guide him down the candle aisle 

“gigi, what do you think of this one?” you ask as you push the dark red jar towards his face. the overtly ‘chai latte’ candle overwhelms his senses. with a scrunch of his nose and exaggerated cough, he shakes his head.

“god no. too much. plus, i like your lavender and vanilla one more. smells more like you.” 

 you hum in acknowledgment as you pull back the candle to smell again. maybe, he did have a point. 

“mm fine. guess you’re right.” you pout out your bottom lip before setting the candle back down on the shelf. 

and then you’re finally shuffling off to the grocery aisles, luigi pushing the cart alongside you. strolling through the aisles of food, you’ve managed to pick up a few things. a box of flavored instant oatmeal, some pasta for easy dinners, and a bag of chocolate for morale sit in the cart.

luigi’s eyes glance down at the items. his jaw is tense, his cheekbone hollowed out while the weight of his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek. he’s unamused, if his facial expression is anything to go by. 

“so when are you going to pick up actual food?” his question almost cuts like a knife. it’s not that he tries to sound so brute, but sometimes he just comes across that way when he’s being so direct. it’s the italian in him.

“what are you talking about? this is plenty fine, luigi.” you roll your eyes at him.

“what am i talking about? even the comp sci geeks i know eat more regular meals than you do. you need some actual nutrients. you eat like a canary.” he tuts. he juts his chin forwards and to the side as an indication for you to step out of the way. 

speechless, you do. luigi proceeds down the aisle towards the produce section. contempt with your efforts so far, he helps himself to grabbing a bushel of broccoli, a bag of baby carrots too, and a few apples, yogurts, and protein bars to boot.

you roll your eyes at him, “yeah, well now it looks like i eat like a rabbit” you point to the baby carrots and broccoli. luigi snorts at that, and then nods in agreement. 

“well you do look like a bunny. so it’s kind of fitting,” he quips, but his tone is more lighthearted and soft now. 

your foot stomps in protest at his joke, “do not!” 

“yeah, see? you even stomp like one when you’re angry,” he laughs, his grin only growing. 

with a sigh of defeat, you shake your head and give him a “fine, whatever”. 

and once luigi is content with the amount of groceries in the cart, he finally directs you two to the checkout. he pulls out his own card to pay for them, because he has that kind of sense and need to take care of you. plus, it only seems fair because he almost always comes over and snacks on whatever is in your fridge himself. 

when you two finally get home after the few hours spent out and about, it’s a relief. he puts your things away for you in the fridge and pantry. he has a very specific categorization of how he does it- each corner of the fridge has it’s own category. he makes a simple dinner for you two afterwards (probably some pasta with roasted veggies). 

the rest of the evening is spent on your couch while he works on his code and you read a book. your feet draped over his lap. for your own amusement, you knock your feet against his hands just to pester him. he always quips back with a “stop that.” oh, and every once in awhile you take a pause and sit up to leer over his shoulder and look at whatever he’s working on. he probably tries to teach you a little bit of code too, which usually goes south pretty quickly and both of you end up bursting into giggles <3333

[clare-875]

Where I Belong (Luffy x Reader)

Pairings: Luffy x Female Reader (+ Strawhats and Reader) Summary: After a bad encounter with past friends, you just want your boyfriend and your crew. Warnings: Hurt, Comfort, mean friends, bullying [One Piece Masterlist] _____

When you returned to the Sunny, you didn't expect to feel so heavy and self-decrepit; you honestly expected the opposite.

When Nami informed you that the next island you would visit was your hometown, you had been ecstatic, instantly writing to your childhood friends in the hopes that you could meet up in the short time you were there. Your heart thrummed with the anticipation of being back on land you knew and breathing the nostalgic air of home. When you had gone to tell Luffy the news, he had joined in on your enthusiasm, grinning wide as you told him all you missed and all you hoped to see.

It had been several years since you had left the island and town you grew up in as a child. Orphaned at a young age, the people of the village had all become your caretakers in a way. They all adored you, a sign that the parents you have little recollection of were also adored before they passed away, and you had grown close to most who resided there. But you shared no deeper connection than the one you shared with your friends.

From the early stages of your childhood and into your teenage life, they had been the backbone of your delight in adventures, and the joyous memories spent despite being left with little place to call home. You would spend much of your time travelling areas of the island you had yet to explore, running in meadows on the back end of town, and giving puppy eyes to cafe owners who would spare you sweet treats. In later years you would gossip about boys, laugh at inside jokes, share in troubles and secrets and happiness.

When you had left your island, the goodbyes had been tearful, and bittersweet. Luffy offered all you had wished for since childhood: adventure, devotion, and answers about the world. With your mysterious devil fruit powers and harbouring an unnatural strength, you would be an asset to the straw-hat crew just as much as the crew would be an asset to you. That didn't make it harder to hug your friends goodbye or wave to them atop a ship that takes you far away. And as much as you adore your life now as a pirate on the sea, you could not help but reminisce.

You missed them, and you could not wait to see them again.

Upon arriving on your island, your senses instantly fill with a vibrancy and an air you had missed. "Come on!!" Your crewmates had smiled wide at your enthusiasm, basically dragging Luffy from the ship; a stark contrast to how he would usually be the one dragging you to islands. In an instant, the townsfolk had gathered, seeing a familiar straw hat and the young woman - a little bit older now - they said goodbye to several years prior, now back home.

"[y/n]!!"

"Welcome home!!"

"How long are you staying!?"

You smile tearful smiles as you greet the villagers who are all alive, safe and well. Familiar faces gather in your vision; the island's renowned cook, waitresses from cafes, shopkeepers and old family friends. They all seem so happy to see you and proud of the accomplishments they have read of in newspapers that travel the sea. '[y/n] [l/n], pirate of the Strawhat crew.' You were surprised by their support of your role as a pirate but it only amplified the nostalgia and warming feeling in your heart as you greeted them.

In fact, the only people absent were the childhood friends you hoped to see.

As people dispersed and gave you space, the local bookshop owner assured you that your friends were somewhere close by and that you would surely bump into them soon. Taking his words in confidence you had turned to your crew who had all been smiling and looking on fondly at the sight of your reunion with the townspeople.

"All right, let me show you guys around!"

You had taken your friends around the island, allowing them to see and explore the town that raised you as a child. They smiled when you spoke to them of the different places and what they meant to you, took suggestions on where to explore to heart and seemed genuinely happy to see where you had grown up.

"The restaurant where [y/n]-swan used to eat- The house that [y/n]-swan used to live- The shop where [y/n]-swan used to-"

"Oi, shut up, cook!!"

"Shi shi shi, this place is so cool [y/n]!!"

You grin as your friends seem to enjoy and appreciate the place you adored just as much as you. Sanji swooning over everything that had something to do with you, Zoro eying the liquor store down the street, Robin taking interest in the ancient books the island held, Brook in the music, Franky in the strange inventions, the list could go on. Your heart warmed at the sight of your makeshift family, getting along so well with the family that raised you. Luffy especially seemed excited to explore the island he visited before, keen to try the food that it was famous for.

"And that's about it! You guys can go and explore on your own now if you-"

Your words stumble to a halt when you see three familiar figures approaching you, grins wide and hands in the air in greeting.

"Hey [y/n]!! Is that you?"

Your smile instantly enlightens your face as you turn from your crew briefly. And sure enough, your old friends are waving to you in greeting, eyes gleaming in their joy to see you again.

"It's been so long!!"

They instantly envelop you in a hug, filling the air with their questions on where you have been, and what you have been up to, and finally turning to your crewmates who smile wide at the company of those you have talked fondly about. Of course, they know of your friends, you would often speak of the adventures you went on and the times you spent together to whatever crewmate would listen.

"And this must be the famous Strawhat crew!!"

"Yep! Guys, these are my childhood friends I always tell you about!"

Your friends turn to your crewmates, eyes shining in awe at the crew you were a part of, now infamous due to the battles you won and the strength that every individual pulled. You smile proudly at the sight of your friends greeting your other friends, the compliments thrown and the sheepish laughter of crewmates as they thank them for looking after you.

"Shi shi shi, alright!! It's time for food now!!"

Your boyfriend wraps his arms around you suddenly, grinning wide as he tries to pull you to the restaurant on the island he adores as much as you do. You roll your eyes, but other crewmembers also perk up.

"Actually, I was gonna check out the bookstore."

"And I should grab some groceries-"

"Those inventions earlier looked SUPERRR, I was gonna go check them out!!"

Nami smiles to you emphatically, as she grabs Luffy's ear and drags him from you. "Ow!! Nami!!" She pays him no mind, however, and turns to you and your friends once more.

"Why don't you go catch up with your friends [y/n]? I'll take Luffy to the restaurant and we'll probably be around town anyway."

"But I want to go with [y/n]- Ow!!"

You smile wide at Nami's understanding that you had missed your friends and hoped to catch up. Other crewmembers nod in encouragement.

"Yeah, [y/n]! You should go, we'll be around here if you need us!"

Chopper smiles happily at you and you hesitate at Luffy's crestfallen expression, but ultimately take the invitation.

"Okay, thanks, guys!!"

"Take your time, we'll be here until tomorrow morning!"

Nami continues to drag Luffy away in bright words and smiles, as the Strawhat crew wave and disperse to the areas that each ignited curiosity in them. Luffy pouts, telling you to not be too long but ultimately persuaded that the food at the restaurant could keep him company for the time you spent away. And in their absence, you turn to your friends eager to hear what you had missed in the years spent at sea.

The beginning goes as you expected, courteous questions, still tentative in the presence of friends you had not seen in a while.

"So, how have you been, [y/n]?"

"How's life at sea?"

And to the questions you received, you replied in the same manner, still joyous, seeing your friends once more. Time away with the future pirate king did mean leaving a life you had grown so attached to behind but in its place, the Sunny became your temporary home. You still missed the simplicity of life on the quaint island you resided in, and seeing your friends ignited memories of the times you spent together.

"I've been doing great!! So many cool adventures, I don't even know where to start-"

You had thought your keenness in the stories you told of the adventures at sea would be received with the same enthusiasm. After all, you had spent so much time away and shared a heartfelt goodbye before you left the island. However, the longer you spoke of your adventures and the longer you spoke of Luffy and your crew, the more their upturned lips started to turn downwards. Their gaze on you started to waver, and in the absence of your crewmates as they walked to restaurants or looked to places around the island, their interest in you also started to falter.

"-and then, you wouldn't believe. But Luffy, he changed gears and punched him through-"

"Yeah, yeah, that sounds great [y/n], but we were actually going to go to the shops right about now."

You pause, surprised by the abruptness of your friend who interrupts the words from your mouth. Suddenly, flustered and thinking you have talked too much (though having only spoken a few sentences), you instantly quietened and nodded in inclined understanding.

"Oh, yeah! Of course, don't let me stop you guys! Where were we thinking of going? I remember that clothing store down the road to that cafe we liked-"

"Oh... you wanted to come too?"

You frown as they interrupt once more, the vibrant air suddenly dwindling with what their words imply, or the feeling you suddenly did not belong in a space you were so sure you did.

"I mean, I thought we could catch up! It's been a while right?"

Your words are less confident than you hoped, lingering with the hesitance that matched the sudden weight of your thoughts. You watch as your friends look at each other, the same hesitance on their faces making you more confused as to why they are acting this way. They seem to share thoughts between their eyes, but ultimately they seem to come to a silent agreement.

"Okay."

But the day that passed had been nothing like what you were used to, and the friends you thought you knew acted nothing like the friends you spent your childhood with. It seemed like an invisible wall was put between you and them, and you followed behind them as you travelled the streets and to the shops. You hear them talk of dinner plans, of meeting people and of events they do not bother explaining to you. They laugh at jokes you don't understand, pass you a sympathetic smile and words like, "You just had to be there," and, "Oh, sorry [y/n], you wouldn't understand, would you?"

And you didn't know exactly why, but those words hit harder than the times they would ignore you as they picked out clothes and giggled with each other. Or when they went through stores and chose jewellery for an event that would take place a week from the current day. Or when they seemed to talk in whispers and not let you in. Each time they acted like you were a fly on the wall, invisible to them though you spent the whole day with them. Suggestions from you to visit the meadow, or go to cafes you so missed fell on deaf ears and all you received were hums and, "Oh, we don't go there anymore."

Your heart felt heavy and the day was long. You tried to convince yourself that this was just what happens when you don't see friends in a while. They grow, they move on. But you also remember how often you spent missing your friends, how you wrote to them even with their sparse replies, or how you cherished and held the memories of them so dear. And now, you see them trying to get rid of you silently, push you away from the circle they made, and their initial interest in your happenings as a pirate had long gone.

It seemed, their interest in you had gone.

But the worst was when you had left to use the bathroom. When you had gone briefly and returned to your friends who looked at dresses, the afternoon sun was already falling to the ground. You were surprised at how the day had passed unbeknownst to you when it had felt so long. You wonder what Luffy was doing, and how Nami was doing taking care of your boyfriend while you were away. He didn't necessarily need to be taken care of, but the two of you often explored islands together and you wondered if he missed you as you missed him.

When you had passed through rows of clothing and were walking past patrons to your friends, you heard your name amongst words you know you shouldn't have heard.

"Damn, was [y/n] always like this?"

"Beats me, do you see the letters she sends us like she's better than us, travelling the sea with the Strawhats."

"Yeah, it's still a wonder they let her join. I only went up to her 'cause I wanted to see if her crewmates were worth all the hype they're getting..."

"Right?! Why did she have to send them away?"

You freeze, still hidden from your friends' view by a clothes rack that impairs their vision. Stomach churning at the words you hear slip past their lips. Your eyes widen, as though you do not see them, your name and their voices confirm it is they who speak to you like a stranger they ridicule, and in such a way that makes your heart sink. Your childhood friends, who you had placed such value in, mocked you for your life choices, and your role on the Strawhat crew, and hoped only to use you to get closer to your infamous crew.

"Did you see the swordsman? Zoro, I think it was? Talk about muscle..."

"And omg, Nami's sense of fashion is just so good, I wish I could've had her tag along instead of-"

It is then that you step forward past the racks, and your friends perk up at your sudden movements, words dying on their tongues. But you try to keep a neutral expression, despite the breaking of your heart. They seem to be convinced you have heard nothing as they wait a moment for you to say something.

"I-I think I'm gonna go now. I don't wanna keep my crew waiting."

Again, your words are hesitant, low but you keep them sturdy enough to sound like a genuine concern you are going to adhere to. Instantly, your friends stand, giving you more attention than they did the whole day.

"Oh, really? Are you sure you don't wanna stay? You could come for dinner, maybe even invite your crew-"

"It's fine."

You smile, straining against your cheeks as you do, hoping your lips have upturned enough to contain the falsity of your expression.

"Thanks for today though, it was nice seeing you guys again."

Words slip your lips almost robotically, hands numb as you feel your friends awkwardly hug you and say their goodbyes. You faintly remember them waving and muttering words like, "Good luck," and "We'll see you next time," but as your legs pull you free from the stuffiness of the store it is like your numbness comes undone. Raging feelings course through your body, and suddenly a line of tears lay on your lower lashline.

You curse yourself.

You hate the way you have been so excited to see your friends when clearly the same sentiment was not returned. You hate the way you wrote to them and reminisced about them and spoke to your crew so fondly of them. You hate the way they have such influence over your joy and the disappointment that drips into your system because of their words and actions. You had spent the whole day with people who barely spared you any mind, when you could've been with Luffy and your true friends, showing them your home town.

Luffy.

Suddenly, and perhaps, more than ever, you crave your boyfriend's presence and his wide smile. And so, you walk through the streets you used to adore, now burdened with the day you spent. Smiling half-heartedly at townsfolk who recognise you and bid their greetings, travelling concrete roads that glow with the sunset, walking familiar paths to the Sunny that was silent on the sea. A moment passes when you look up at the sight, remembering when Luffy had asked you to join him. The image of the ship was parallel to the day you joined the Strawhats: you were on the island looking at the Going Merry and making a decision that would change your life.

You walk, up to the deck, confused about the silence until you hear a yell from inside the kitchen.

"LUFFY!! What are you doing!! That's for [y/n]!!!"

"But I'm hungryyy!! She won't mind, she always shares with me!!"

"You ate at the restaurant!!"

When you open the door, you are met by the sight of Nami trying to wrangle food from Luffy's clutches. You recognised the meal as something your favourite restaurant makes, it was your favourite meal, and something you missed dearly, along with the island. There are two beats of silence until Luffy turns, face suddenly going from frustrated to a wide grin the instant he notices you.

"[y/n]!!"

Luffy jumps from the spot where he had been trying to steal food from Nami, instantly enveloping you in a hug that takes you stumbling back a few steps. Nami sighs loudly before putting the packed meal on the counter and stomping outside the kitchen.

"Idiot... I'll be on the island with the crew!!"

She doesn't wait for your reply and leaves the kitchen in abrupt frustration. Luffy doesn't seem to mind her absence though as he lifts his head from where he embraces you, a smile tugging against the corners of his lips. Still downtrodden from the day's events and trials, you take the sight in and feel the weight of the day fall onto you and disappear at the same time. Tears start to line your eyes once more, but you hold them in, unfortunately for you, however, Luffy notices your quiet and despondency.

"[y/n]? What's wrong?"

He releases you from his deathly embrace as he looks at you seriously. You on the other hand laugh softly as you shake your head, suddenly relieved to be with your boyfriend and away from the friends who made you feel so awful about yourself.

"Nothing's wrong... I just missed you."

Luffy hums in contemplation, staring and tilting his head for several moments as though analysing your features for a trace of a lie. But you guess your words are not a lie. You did miss him after all, more than ever when you were with your childhood friends; a burden and outcast. Your smile is still on your lips, and though sadder than usual, Luffy decides to trust you, as he matches your expression with a grin.

"I missed you too!! Look, we got something for you."

Luffy instantly turns to the counter where Nami just put the meal she claimed to have gotten you. Luffy smiles cheekily as he hands it to you. You smile at the gesture, it was a massive assortment of foods the local chef knew you adored.

"Wanna eat together?"

You don't even have to ask as Luffy jumps on a chair by the dining room table, eagerly waiting for you to join him. However, he must've sensed something was off with you because instead of going straight into the meal, he watches as you unpack it carefully. There was more food than you thought there would be, so you were glad you had enlisted your boyfriend's help to devour it. You pick up your fork and take a bite, savouring the way the food melts in your mouth, and ignites feelings of nostalgia buried so deep within you that it almost makes you cry.

"Luffy, this is sooo good!!"

"Really!?"

You turn and grin, but are taken aback when you witness the way Luffy is smiling to you. It is in a way that seems gentler, and softer than usual. There is adoration in his eyes like you were the treasure he searched the seas for, but hidden within are also the depths of understanding you do not usually see. It is instantly diminished, however, as he clutches a fork and takes a bite of the meal himself, face brightening at the taste. However, as he speaks there is a serious undertone that makes you think that maybe he was not so quick to diminish your sullen behaviour earlier.

"Your friends... They weren't nice to you, were they?"

You freeze and look to your Captain who looks from the food to you imploringly, a serious glint in his eyes, but a sad smile on his face.

"What do you-"

"You only look like that, when you had a bad day."

Luffy's lips turn to a frown now as he bites into the meal and lets the silence linger between the two of you. Still surprised by his words, but also moved by the way your oblivious captain seems to understand you to no end, you smile softly despite the tears that fall from your eyes, now unstoppable. Luffy still looks at you in concern, as he witnesses the upturn of your lips, and the falling of tears, and he waits for the words you speak softly.

"Yeah. They were different, changed, and maybe this isn't the home it used to be..."

You look to your boyfriend who remains patiently waiting for you to finish speaking your thoughts. You remember back to when you accepted his offer to join the crew. You recall the adventures you went on, your beloved crewmates and how so many had joined and how you had all come so much closer, like the family you never had. You remember confusing love confessions due to Luffy's inability to understand his feelings.

You remember the depths of care your boyfriend held throughout the entirety of your relationship.

How he would listen when you spoke of your adventures, lured in by the spark in your eyes when you talked of something enthusiastically. How he would laugh and smile and never make you feel excluded from the company around you. How he treated you and his nakama with such importance and faith. The stark contrast to what you experienced today.

"... but it's okay. The crew is my home now."

You smile and Luffy's eyes widen for a second before he grins, his same, wide and unfaltering smile. The two of you share in your gaze once more before Luffy takes his Strwaht and places it on your head. It fits snugly atop your hair, but more so there lingers the symbol that you were accepted, loved, and adored by the man you sit beside. Smiles linger as the both of you continue to dig into the meal in front of you and soon, crewmates come back to the ship and greet you in their pure, true contentment.

"Hey [y/n]!!"

"Damn [y/n], you never told us how SUPERRR your island is!"

"I had a lovely time."

“So many cute dresses!!”

As you watch your crewmates gather around the table, their own meals in hand no doubt by the local cook who provided them, you let the heaviness of your heart dissipate for a while. Whilst this island still holds memories and places you adore, with people you still hold dear, it felt like for the first time in a long time, you know where you belong.

[cameronsbabydoll]

FINDING OUT ♕ RAFE CAMERON ARRANGED MARRIAGE AU

WARNINGS: sexism, alcohol, and smoking

You and Rafe had known each other since childhood—not by choice, but by circumstance. Your father and Rafe’s father, Ward Cameron, were business partners—both powerful men who built their empires on power, money, secrecy, control, and manipulation. You knew very well that their business wasn’t built in a day; it had been passed down through generations, from their fathers and grandfathers, who had risen to power through corruption and dirty work, reaching a status other people could only dream of.

Growing up, you would walk downstairs in the princess gown your mother bought you, only to be met with hushed whispers and men in tailored suits huddled in deep conversation around the dining room table. And then there was Rafe Cameron—the Kook King, the golden boy of Figure Eight—who seemed to only speak in blunt truths. You and Rafe weren’t friends by any means, more like two spoiled children forced to be around each other while your fathers drank overpriced whiskey and discussed business deals. You knew his sister, though. The two of you weren’t best friends, but you were friendly. She was outgoing and fun, while you had always been more reserved and shy. Still, you often found yourself with her whenever your fathers were around.

Now, years later, you found yourself sitting at the same long, polished oak dining table in Tannyhill. Your mother had dressed you in a pale pink satin dress, which felt completely out of place as you sat beside her, the thick smoke of cigars floating above your head and creating a sense of dread in your stomach.

Ward Cameron sat at the head of the table, swirling the rim of his whiskey glass with his finger before finally pulling the attention to himself.

"Your father and I have been thinking for a while, and we’ve decided that the best way to strengthen our power and alliance is to bind our families together. Which is where you two come in," Ward said, his eyes darting between Rafe and your father, as if you weren’t even there. "So, we’ve arranged a marriage between the two of you. It’s the only way this can happen."

The swirling air of cigars felt heavier. Your chest tightened with his words. Marriage itself didn’t scare you, not at all. In fact, the idea had always sent you into a girlish state of planning every detail—from the exact cut of your ring to the names of your future children. But this was different. Instead of your dream man, it was Rafe Cameron—a man a few years older than you, a risk-taker, and, quite frankly, someone you could never have imagined marrying.

"You can’t be serious," Rafe said, his voice flat, void of emotion. "This has to be some sort of joke." He finished, slamming his bourbon glass onto the table.

"Your father and I never joke about business; you should know that by now," your father replied, pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

In your head, your thoughts raced. Why is this happening? Isn’t this outdated? Why am I not even part of this conversation? And why is everyone drinking bitter, old-fashioned alcohol but me?

But you already knew the answer to that—you had only just turned twenty, and it wouldn’t be ladylike, would it?

"And quite frankly, it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to do this," Ward continued. "We’ve already started the arrangements. The venue is booked, and the process is underway. I’d appreciate it if you learned a lesson from your future wife about not questioning your father."

The attention was suddenly on you. Lifting your eyes slightly from your lap, you felt the burning stares of the three men.

Your father looked at you with a sense of pride—not for who you were, but for your silence. Ward was watching you closely, as if expecting your compliance to influence Rafe’s resistance. And Rafe? He was looking at you like you were the mastermind behind this whole thing—as if you were the culprit of the situation.

"Well, that’s because she’s already playing into the compliant wife role, isn’t she?" Rafe scoffed, his knuckles turning white. "I’m not going to sit here, keep my eyes on my lap, and stay silent like some obedient puppy." Though his voice was sharp, there was something uncertain in his words—like a question buried beneath his frustration.

You knew better than to answer.

You had learned early on never to question your father—or any man who held power, for that matter. So, instead of speaking up like any normal woman might, you remained in your seat, forcing your mind to drift to something—anything—positive about this situation.

The only thing that came to mind was the wedding itself. The dresses. The dream ring. The excitement of planning.

You didn’t even notice your mother pulling your hand into hers, "How about the two of us girls leave and start talking about the more important things—dresses, color themes, and more wedding planning? You all can finish talking business," she suggested.

Your father nodded without sparing you so much as a glance.

Your mother led you to the living room, where Rose, Rafe’s stepmother, sat with a cup of tea, flipping through a wedding planner.

"Oh, I’m glad you two managed to escape that conversation; I’m sure it was dreadful," Rose said with a soft smile. "Please, sit. Your mother and I have already been going over some ideas for the wedding, but we figured you should have most of the control. It’s the least we can do, considering this whole... situation." She reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before setting a baby blue binder on your lap.

"W-Wow... you guys really started planning," you muttered, your thumb tracing the engraved words Wedding Planner on the cover. "Is there some kind of order we should go in? L-Like, I know you all want the... wedding to happen soon...?" You trailed off, lifting your gaze from the binder to the two women.

Your mother let out a soft chuckle, placing her hands over yours. "Well, that’s one way to put it, sweetie. I figured we’d start with the ring and the dress, and we’d plan the colors and theme around that."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Y-Yeah... that sounds good. When can we go?"

Rose and your mother exchanged glances before Rose beamed."How about tomorrow? And if we don’t find anything, we can always order some custom dresses or travel to find the perfect one!"

"That sounds amazing, actually," you giggled, closing the binder and setting it down on the glass coffee table.

Your mother squeezed your hand gently, her expression warm. "I’m glad, honey. We’ll make a day out of it—shopping, wedding planning, maybe even a spa visit."

Rose placed her tea cup on the table and nodded. "Perfect! We’ll leave tomorrow around ten. You two should get some rest now—I’ll let your father know."

You gave Rose a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Rose. I’m excited for tomorrow."

As you and your mother left the Cameron estate, she drove home—a short trip filled with comfortable silence.

When you arrived, you bid her goodnight, thanking her before heading upstairs. You climbed the grand staircase, undressed from the upscale dress into a nightgown, and finally lay your head against your silk pillows.

With a deep breath, you let your thoughts drift to some far-off fantasy, whispering to yourself a quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—it would all be okay.

TAGLIST: @vanessa-rafesgirl @lolasangelz @malibuhearts @popou61

[marauder-misprint]

do you think you can write a part two to ‚He looks like his father‘? It’s just really great and I’d like to see how it goes on

Here it is! The rest of the day with Sirius and Percy! I 100% put some of Sirius' lines from canon into this - it wasn't planned but it fits.

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎❤︎❤︎

Old school friends

part one

Sirius Black x fem!Slytherin!reader (mum reader)

3.3k words

cw: mention of war, y/n y/l/n, fluff?

You locked eyes with Narcissa the moment you and Sirius entered the Three Broomsticks. She gave you a small, knowing smile. With a quick glance to the side, you saw that Sirius was tensed up, his jaw clenched. Frankly, you’re not sure if he was scanning the gaggle of students looking for the boy who could be his son or if he saw Lucius and Narcissa and decided that this was a mistake.

“I know you said you were meeting them here, but ugh,” he mumbled as you weaved through the busy pub. 

So the latter. You laughed lightly and scanned the teenagers. You discreetly pointed toward the end of the table where Percy was sitting in between Draco and Theodore Nott.

“Percy’s next to Draco,” you said. 

Sirius looked where you pointed. He tried to see what you and Remus meant by the boy looking like him. He supposed the dark hair and light eyes could be similar, but he didn’t see it as strikingly as Remus did. Sirius’ eyes went wide when you turned for the parents’ end of the table instead of toward Percy.

“I thought I was-” Sirius started to say until you reached to grab his arm.

“I’m not going to interrupt him with his friends to introduce an old school friend,” you said, reminding him of who he was to Percy. “You will tolerate the adults for a few drinks. We’ll probably stop by Honeydukes or something after and you can meet him then.”

Sirius nodded and followed you to where the adults were sitting.

“Cousin!” Narcissa greeted Sirius brightly as you sat down next to her and Sirius next to you. “How is the Potter boy doing?” 

“Harry’s well. Brilliant as his parents were,” Sirius answered, although his answer sounded strained. He obviously wasn’t used to talking politely with the Malfoys or the other smattering of parents around you. 

You looked around the table and realized you recognized a few faces. It made sense that some of Draco’s friends’ families would’ve been invited to the Malfoy’s Christmas parties. 

“Gloria Greengrass! Were you at the game?” you asked a woman across the table. 

“Oh, Y/N, I thought that was your Percy down there,” Gloria responded, a saccharine smile appearing on her face. “Yes, I did attend. Since when has Percy been attending Hogwarts? I could have sworn you said he was at Durmstrang?” 

“He was,” you drawled. It was easy to fall back into the almost pretentious conversation that these pure blood-centric families doled out. “But a promotion brought us to this neck of the woods and, you know Dumbledore, can’t refuse legacy students. I must say, Percy jumped at the opportunity to attend with Draco.”

Gloria laughed and then turned her piercing gaze to Sirius. She gave him an obvious once over.

“And this is?” 

“Sirius Black,” you answered for him. “An old friend that I wasn’t expecting to run into today and we decided that we must catch up.” 

Gloria nodded and whispered something to the woman next to her. You looked at Sirius briefly, but he was trying to wave down Madam Rosmerta to get drinks brought over for you two.

Then Narcissa leaned over to you and whispered, “Gloria is next to Bridget Zabini. Then, you have the Boyles, the Parkinsons and Marcus Montague.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered back, placing your hand on top of hers. 

Between the Christmas parties and Percy’s occasional letters, you recognized some of the names. However, Gloria was the only you had ever really conversed with. You sat and listened politely to their conversations. Sirius got you both butterbeers. You felt less awkward at the table with a drink in your hands.

“Do you know any of them?” you asked Sirius in a low voice.

“Remus and I keep to the Gryffindor families. But I do know Marcus next to me. Parents were friends.”

“Ah, so you’re best friends,” you teased, earning an eye roll from Sirius. 

“Barely. He’s older than Bellatrix.”

“Maybe you have a thing for older men now. It has been a while since we’ve seen each other.” 

He scoffed and took a swig of his drink, the foam sticking to his upper lip. You handed him a napkin. 

“Good to know you still hate the foam,” Sirius muttered as he wiped it away.

“I don’t hate it. I just think it looks sloppy,” you corrected him.

Narcissa leaned forward and said, “She’s right. It does look sloppy. Anyways, Y/N, can I assume that you two have… caught up on big life occurrences?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Narcissa had a certain kind of tact, that was for sure. 

“He is aware, yes,” you said firmly. 

Sirius looked from you to Narcissa to Percy and back to you. 

“And what of it? Where does that leave things?” she pressed.

“Cissa. We can discuss it over tea at a later date. Now is not the time, nor the place.”

She gave you an annoyed look. She wanted details and to know how things were going to move forward with this since Sirius now knew about Percy and you brought him to butterbeers. You were mildly amused that she thought it was something you’d be willing to discuss in front of people you barely knew. 

 Both you and Sirius opted to listen more than participate in the conversations around you. You shared low comments here and there and responded when spoken to, but that was about it. You felt like you were a little kid being allowed to sit at the adult table for once. You understood most of the conversations but not enough to contribute. From how rigid Sirius was, you assumed he felt the same way. Some pure blood families never changed. 

After a while and a few refills, you stood and signaled for Sirius to do the same. 

“It’s been lovely seeing you all, but I have some errands to run before I leave the village,” you told the adults before calling down to the end of the table, “Percy, we’re leaving.” 

Percy said a quick bye to his friends before joining you and Sirius near the exit of the pub.

“Percy, this is one of my friends from when I went here, Sirius Black.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” your son said, holding out his hand which Sirius shook. “Oh, I saw you earlier! After the match!”

“Yes. You were in quite a hurry to get to your mum. Can’t say I blame you,” Sirius said with a smirk. 

You elbowed him in the side.

“Ow,” Sirius hissed as you gave him a sickly sweet smile. 

“Wait, Mum, did you say Black? Sir, are you related to Aunt Cissa?” 

You could tell that Sirius wanted to gag or say something rude. It was instinct for him, but he swallowed the urge down. 

“She’s my cousin, yes.”

“Wicked.”

“Oh, and Sirius is fine. None of that sir business.”

“Perc, do you mind if he tags along? I literally haven't seen him since before you were born.”

“Yeah, whatever, Mum. Honeydukes?”

“Lead the way,” you laughed. 

Percy pushed open the doors. The warm afternoon air enveloped you as you stepped out into the sunlight. Percy wasted no time and headed toward the sweets shop. You and Sirius walked behind him. You couldn’t help the smile that tugged on your lips. It was amusing to see Sirius watch Percy, trying to see what similarities others saw and imagining everything he missed in this child’s upbringing. 

Just outside Honeydukes, Percy stopped and turned to face you.

“Sirius, sir, if you don’t mind me asking, which house were you in?” 

“I don’t mind at all. Gryffindor.”

Percy’s face lit up. “Oh! So you must’ve known my dad!” 

You froze.

“Mum says he was in Gryffindor. Any of your old mates dead?”

Embarrassment washed over you. Your son, despite all the respect and manners Durmstrang taught him, still was a teenager. You looked to Sirius to see how he would respond and you wanted to laugh at his expression. At least you did until he answered.

“Too many of them, Percy. Far too many of them.” His tone was grave. 

“The war,” Percy breathed in realization. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”

Okay, maybe Durmstrang did alright. 

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout, kit. I like to think that the ones we love never really leave us. They’re always in here,” he said, patting his chest. “Anyways, what’s your favorite sweet? I’m buying. A thank you for letting me tag along.”

“Awesome! We’re so getting Shock-o-chocs!”

Percy bolted into the store to find his most frequented stand. You nudged Sirius’ as you took a step forward. 

“Thanks for… not being hard on him about the war.”

“Please, least I could do. And don’t think I’m not getting you Chocolate Eternals.”

Your heart fluttered. He had remembered your favorite after all these years. It must’ve shown on your face. 

As Sirius started walking toward the door, he said, “If I recall, you never could turn them down.”

You followed the boys into the shop. It wasn’t exactly as you remembered it. It felt more crowded with additional stands and a larger variety of sweets. Sirius and Percy were standing among the chocolate options, putting an ungodly amount of packages into a basket that Sirius was holding onto. You shook your head as you walked up to them.

“Not trying to drain his bank account, are you?” you asked.

“Mum, your friend insisted.”

You gave Sirius a soft glare. He had often been the recipient of your glares and knew every variation. Just like he did when you were students, he flashed you his most charming grin. 

“Sirius…” 

“What? If he’s really your kid, then chocolate’s one of his most important food groups and Hogwarts is depriving him of it.” 

“I’m deprived, Mum,” Percy added, suddenly sporting an identical grin to Sirius.

Merlin, they were practically twins. Had this kid not inherited a single one of your genes?

“I mean, I’m not saying no. Just pointing out that Sirius is going to run himself broke.” You crossed your arms and popped your hip out. “I’m surprised you’re broke already.” 

“I’m financially responsible.”

You snorted as you tossed a few Chocolate Cauldrons into the basket.

“You and the word ‘responsible’ will never be in the same sentence.” 

He shrugged. “What’s life without a little risk?” 

“Go buy this before we end up buying the whole place out,” you told Sirius.

Percy gave you a wide-eyed look. “Can we do that?”

“No, Percy, no. You have to pace yourself.”

Sirius, despite being a short distance away as he stood in line, said, “Godric, he’s fifteen. Cut ‘im some slack, love!”

You pressed your lips together at the endearment. The apologetic look that crossed Sirius’ face showed that he noticed his slipup too. You glanced at Percy, but he didn’t seem to think anything of it. You sighed and slung an arm over his shoulder. 

“Let’s wait for Sirius outside,” you said, steering your son out of the store. “Classes going well?”

He nodded. “Bit easier than Durmstrang. Library’s better here. The moving staircases? Stupid,” he said, voice turning bitter at the mention of the stairs. 

You tried not to laugh. Those stairs have always been a struggle for certain students. If Percy had started here when he was eleven, he likely wouldn't be so irritated with them now. 

“Everything else is good though? Sleeping okay? Eating enough? Friends? Girlfriends?”

“Mum!” he whined. “Yeah, I’m good. All good. Got friends.” 

You smiled impishly as your son turned bright red. It was your motherly duty to embarrass your son every once in a while. The bell above the Honeydukes door tinkled, announcing Sirius’ return to you. 

“Where to next, L/Ns? Harry usually insists on Spintwitches, like he needs anything from there.”

“Harry?” Percy asked.

“Did I not mention? I’m Harry Potter’s uncle. You know, Gryffindor seeker,” Sirius answered. 

Percy made a slight face at the clarification. You chuckled. Your indifference-leaning-dislike of James was apparently being relived by Percy and Harry. 

“Not a fan, I take it?” Sirius said.

Percy tutted to buy him a moment before answering. He spoke slowly as if choosing his words carefully. “He’s not my favorite Gryffindor so far.”

“His father wasn’t mine either,” you told Percy, earning yourself an eye roll from Sirius. “Don’t think we need anything from Spintwitches… Uh, Percy, need any supplies? They got parchment, books, ink, quills, potion ingredients. Practically whatever you need.” 

“I know, Mum. Not my first Hogsmeade visit,” Percy said. “Can we stop by Dogwood and Deathcap? I checked the Magic Neep for dittany last week and they were out. Draco wouldn’t go to Dogwood with me.” 

You looked at Sirius, both of you nodding and then turning in the direction of the ingredients shop. Sirius kept looking at you with a smile on his face. You tried to ignore it and the way it sent butterflies into your stomach. You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were an adult with adult responsibilities and adult control over your feelings. Sirius should not have this effect on you anymore. 

“How close were you two?” Percy asked, catching you and Sirius in the act of making eye contact and then immediately looking away. 

“Ah, how do you kids say it these days? Frenemies?” you offered. 

Sirius barked a loud laugh. He knew it was a fairly accurate description, it just left out the ‘more than friends’ portions. 

“Frenemies?” Percy repeated.

“A very love-hate relationship. Don’t think your mum approved of all the trouble I got into,” Sirius confirmed. “She really didn’t like it when she got detention for something I did.” 

You groaned at the memory. 

“Sirius had me be his lookout while he stole from Professor Slughorn’s private stores. Potion master. And someone walked out of the closet when I clearly hadn’t given an ‘all clear’ signal.”

“I couldn’t hear you talking to Sluggy. I’ve apologized hundreds of times!”

“What other trouble did you get her into?” Percy asked eagerly. 

The stories you had told him about your days weren’t the ones that ended with you in detention. You left out the stories that involved stealing from professors and the dueling in the corridors and sneaking around with Sirius and any pranks that you happened to be a part of. 

Sirius hummed. “Did your mum ever tell you about the time she sent me flying into a wall? I was in the hospital wing for a week.”

“What? No? Mum?” Percy gasped. He looked between you. “What happened?”

“Your-ahem.” You cleared your throat. You had almost just called Sirius “your father” to Percy. That was a slip up you didn’t need happening. “Sirius was being an idiot and he ended up on the wrong side of my wand. It happens.” You hoped your nonchalance covered up your earlier mistake.

“The wrong side of your wand,” Sirius muttered with a shake of his head. “She hit me with Bombarda!”

“You deserved it.”

Sirius knew better than to argue with that point, especially since he didn’t fancy landing on a pumpkin in the field next to them. Sirius had been breaking up with you, again, when you sent him into the wall. You recalled it coming out of nowhere, but Sirius knew that James and Remus had urged him to get away from you. While he had been in the hospital wing due to his resulting injuries, you had nightly detention for a week. 

“You went around Bombarda-ing people?” Percy asked. 

“I did deserve it,” Sirius said before you could answer.

“Glad you admit it,” you told him before turning to Percy. “This is a ‘do as I say, not as I did’ situation. I’ve sat through more than my fair share of detention.”

“A whole new side to Mum… When did you stop being wild?” 

You scrunched the left side of your face in thought. “Let’s see, you’re fifteen so somewhere around fifteen years ago?”

Percy made a face at you. The three of you walked up to Dogwood and Deathcap. Sirius held open the door for you. The shopkeeper greeted you from behind the counter but only Sirius got named. 

“Do you have any dittany, ma’am?” Percy asked, leaning his arms on the counter to look behind her.

“That I do… Just let me grab it,” the witch answered.

As she turned to get it, Sirius stepped forward and pulled out his pouch of coins. Then you stepped forward, putting a hand over the pouch.

“I can pay,” you told him firmly.

“I want to.”

You glared at each other, each waiting for the other to back down. Somehow, you both missed Percy pulling out his own galleon and sliding it across the counter when the shopkeeper turned around with a package of dittany flowers. 

“Thank you, ma’am. Mum? Sirius? You ready?” 

You blinked and then looked at Percy. 

“Oh, yeah. How much was it?” 

“Just a galleon. Don’t worry about it. Money’s from Uncle.”

When you got back to the main street of Hogsmeade, Percy saw some of his friends heading back to the castle. He gave you one last hug and shook Sirius’ hand again before joining up with them. You and Sirius stood next to each other and watched him practically tackle Draco. Draco glanced back at you, offering a quick wave before they continued down the path. 

“Didn’t tell him much about me, did you?” Sirius asked, still looking where the boys had disappeared into the horizon. 

“He knows enough,” you said. “Sorry I didn’t tell him about the countless times you broke my heart.” 

Sirius sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“He knows his father was smart, kind and loyal. Stuck up for his friends. I told him that his father had the brightest smile and he got it too. And he does. He has your smile.” You took a sharp breath. “I’m not sorry for leaving certain aspects out so he can have a good image of who his father is.”

“Thank you, then. For making me sound better than I am.” 

You scoffed, or laughed. It was a mix.

“It’s all true, Sirius. The only lie I’ve told him about you is that you’re dead.”

“How did I die?”

This time, it was a real laugh that left your lips, full of warmth. It was the laugh that made Sirius fall in love with you time after time during your time at Hogwarts.

“At the hands of dark magic. If you had died in the war, it would’ve been the truth.”

“Ah, too bad I survived.”

You hummed. “Too bad.” You gave Sirius a kind smile. “I really should be going. And you should be finding Remus.” 

You made to step off to the side where the Floo network was connected, but Sirius reached out to stop you.

“Where are you living nowadays?” he asked rushedly.

“Um, London. Why?” 

“I told you, if you’d want to, I want to try again. Let me take you on a date. I’m in Godric’s Hollow, but I’ll go to wherever if you’re there.” 

You pursed your lips as you considered it. You had said you would talk about it later. Sirius had played nice with the Malfoys and other Slytherin families. He did well with Percy. It had been a nice afternoon.

“Do you have a phone?” you asked.

“No? That’s a muggle thingy, right?” 

You exhaled out of your nose. “Yeah. Then, I mean, I’m reachable by owl. We can grab a drink sometime.”

Sirius smiled widely and let go of your arm. You returned his smile, although yours was more polite while his was full of joy. You grabbed a handful of powder and vanished in a flash of green flames. Sirius waited a moment, staring where you had previously been standing. He had a son and the promise of a drink with you. He shook his head in disbelief as he turned to make his way back to the castle so he could find Remus. This really hadn’t been the day he was expecting when they arrived for the quidditch match, but he wasn’t complaining. 

tags: @corawithfanfiction, @bruxa0007, @ayyeitssarahh, @jgdhmeynsgn

[mokulule]

A Man has Needs part 3

First

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Jason/Danny) Summary: In which Jason keeps up ending up in Danny's bed and not even for any fun reasons.

Part 3

Daniel James Fenton, 20 years old, born and raised in Amity Park, Illinois. Graduated high school with barely passing grades. Currently enrolled in Gotham U’s aerospace engineering program, with (ironically) a Wayne Foundation scholarship of a type that was reliant on entrance exam test results rather than high school grades. Either his high school teachers hated him or he spent the gap year studying his ass off to ace the exams.

At least it explained what he was doing in Gotham of all places, Jason thought as he leaned on the kitchen island chin in his hand, laptop open in front of him. The WF scholarships for Gotham U were very good, yet still most people had the sense not to move to Gotham - and Crime Alley at that.

Him being from the Midwest might even explain some of the strange hospitality, though Jason felt he probably took it a level above most people.

Of family there was an older sister - like he’d mentioned. Jasmine Fenton was currently doing a PhD in the field of Psychology.

The parents, Jack and Madeline Fenton had doctorates of their own, though what little he could find published from them was from very disreputable paranormal sort of publications. They seemed to have very little basis for their theories - one of which was that ghosts were inherently evil - which was just absolute hogwash. They apparently lived off the payout of some early inventions they’d made and sold to the government.

Beyond that there was only an aunt.

Friends were much harder to judge. Danny’s social media presence was practically non-existent. He’d only just opened an account on Mugshot, Gotham’s favored social, this Monday, apparently due to encouragement from new Gotham U friends.

Jason absently drummed his fingers on the counter, as he stared unseeingly towards his laptop. Maybe Tim or Babs could find more, but Jason found himself reluctant to involve them, they would want to know why he was looking into the guy, they would want a reason to dig deeper than the basic background check Jason had already done.

Jason could not- would not, tell them about this… attraction? Jason rubbed his face tiredly. Attraction was a terrible word, that implied other things, but it was the best he had.

The oven timer had the kindness to beep then, signifying that batch of cookies was done, and distracting him for a few minutes as he transferred them to the cooling rack and got another plate going.

It was a limited reprieve however and all too soon he was back in front of his laptop. He had no other avenues, there really was only one thing to do.

Oo o oO

“We need to talk.” He flung the words out the moment a surprised Danny opened the door. The surprise however quickly gave way to a grimace as he registered the words.

“Do we have to?” Danny asked honest pleading in his voice.

Jason felt really tempted to say no, but forced himself to say “yes.”

“Okay,” Danny sighed, leaving the door open for Jason to step inside.

Jason closed the door after himself and felt his shoulders relax from their tense position and his breath come out in a relieved sigh. Safe.

He looked to Danny who wrung his hands.

Jason had meant to say something, ask something, he’d had a plan. He wanted answers. Answers… Jason opened his mouth, sound getting stuck in his throat. Just ask him what was going on? But what did it really matter?

“Ah! Please don’t say anything,” Danny interrupted Jason’s internal struggle. “I have been trying so hard not to make this awkward.”

Jason grimaced when he saw how uncomfortable Danny looked. Jason was making him uncomfortable.

“Okay look,” Danny took a deep breath and held up his hands, and looked at Jason with his big blue eyes, “will you please, just let me start, and if you really feel like you need to say something you can do so afterwards, yeah? Though it’s really not necessary.”

“Okay,” Jason managed mouth dry.

“I don’t know how to make this not awkward, but here goes, it’s okay.”

“Okay?” Jason reiterated brows raising in confusion.

“Yes, it’s okay, truly. Fuck, how would Jazz say it,” Danny looked thoughtful for a moment before meeting Jason’s eyes again. “You have needs, and that is okay.”

Jason frowned bewildered and alarmed. Needs?

Seeing Jason’s frown Danny unfortunately rambled, “I know it’s not exactly socially normal no matter which way you look at it, but it’s fine. I have a big bed, truly it’s fine. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, or apologize-“

Overwhelmed, Jason held up his bag of cookies and Danny thankfully stopped talking.

“Coffee?” Danny croaked after a moment’s silence.

“Please,” Jason agreed.

Five minutes later they sat at Danny’s small table a plate of cookies between them, looking down at their steaming coffee, awkwardly avoiding looking at each other.

Jason didn’t know what to think. Had he gotten any information out of this? Needs… Jason had needs, and those let him to Danny’s bed? He cringed away from the thought.

Across from him, Danny poked the handle of his cup. “Can we just pretend this conversation didn’t happen?”

Maybe Danny had the right of it. For both their sanities, maybe that was best. Aside from his confusion, Jason had felt better after both times he’d slept at Danny’s. Would it be so bad to, just for once in his life, not question things? Jason was unsure how much of this was his brain being muddled in Danny’s presence, but he agreed with a nod, and took a sip of coffee.

Oo o oO

Danny wanted to scream. He had made such a mess of things! All his good intentions and he’d gone and made things awkward anyways. It was a relief his guest was willing to just go with it after all.

And, Danny lamented, his guest had even spoken earlier today, like in a full sentence and now they were back at single words or nonverbal. Poor guy. It had to be so uncomfortable to wake up in a stranger’s bed. If only Danny had an easy way to give him straight ectoplasm, but then that might actually overwork his starved core and make everything worse. The slow absorption of Danny’s ambient energy, probably was best for him.

Half still lost in thought he took a cookie and promptly groaned in pleaures, it was perfect and there was no way he could keep his train of thought. It was crisp on outside and chewy in the middle, and the chocolate bits were so rich.

“You made these?” Danny exclaimed between heavenly bites and was rewarded with a quick shy smile and a glance of blue-green eyes. Fuck, why did Danny’s guest have to be both hot and cute? Life was so unfair.

But it seemed the ice had finally broken, and they were back to something comfortable.

Oo o oO

Later in his own apartment, Jason tried once again to make sense of things.

Facts. Jason woke up in Danny’s bed twice, it was likely to happen again.

Apparently Jason had needs. He shuddered at the thought, because what did that mean? But in a twisted way it also made sense, because he had woken up twice in that man’s bed through no conscious decision of his own. There was something about Danny that drew Jason to him and while it was kinda freaking him out, it was also kinda not. Which in itself was freaking him out if he allowed himself to think about it.

But another fact was that Jason felt better, lighter somehow, than… actually he didn’t really remember when he’d last felt so good. Maybe he really had just needed some proper sleep?

And Danny himself?

Jason had no idea what his deal was. It was very odd how accepting he was of the situation - he’d said it himself, this wasn’t socially normal no matter how you looked at it.

He was clearly not normal no matter how you looked at it. But neither was Jason really.

-

And this is the end of part 3.

They almost talked? They gotta get props for trying right?

You can subscribe at the masterpost

[lukolastrong]

The Red Herring: My Discourse on A

Imagine seeing how your "boyfriend" interacts with his talented, kind, brilliant, charismatic, absolutely gorgeous co-star/friend and have it live in perpetuity on the internet. Imagine having interviewers, fans, and GA alike speculating their relationship. Imagine seeing a video where his jaw literally drops after seeing her. Imagine a hug between them is going viral (one video had over 6 million views). Imagine that the SS Lukola needs its own fleet because more and more people are boarding the ship. Imagine being presumably holed up in a hotel while he is having the time of his life with his friends and coworkers and is like a moth to a flame with one of them in particular. Imagine him looking at her like she hung the moon.

You can't say that this is all acting or PR because the chemistry between L and N is undeniable. The trove of candid photos and videos show how organic their affection is for one another.

Personally, if that was my boyfriend, I would have ended things a long time ago to preserve some sense of self-worth. Heck, I would have probably had an aneurysm after the release of the Misdirected audiobook alone; nevermind everything else.

Nobody, I mean NOBODY, not even someone like Beyonce who oozes confidence (remember Becky with the good hair), can stomach all this. That is why I find it hard to believe that L and A are dating and that a young, 20-something year old nobody has the impenetrable self-esteem to condone all this. Even his ex, who surpasses A in maturity and is familiar with the industry and how it works, couldn't handle it.

I am not bashing L. He is widely known to be the kindest person in the world, and there is more than enough evidence to support this claim. His digital footprint shows what a sweet lover boy he was towards his previous girlfriends. But his dynamic with A is so strange and unusually cold. It is more believable that she is a red herring than his actual girlfriend. It would explain their odd recent appearances with all the stiffness and forced smiles, the convenient release of old photos, the panicked IG follow, etc. I can drone on and on.

The question is then why would she agree to all this? The answer is that she is simultaneously rewarded free publicity.

L is a stepping stone for her. Since this past summer, she went from a mediocre Tik-Tok dancer to modeling for several ad campaigns (Dower and Hall, bybarely and now Vauxhall).

In fact, it is possible that she is dating L's very close friend, JV. Others have suspected the same. It would make sense that L, being the nice person he is, begrudgingly drags his close friend's GF to certain events like BOSS and BAFTA afterparty to network.

If L and A are truly an item, the math simply does not add up. However, the math does add up if A is just a red herring to divert attention away from L and N relationship. I find this to be the most plausible explanation.

Absolutely love this theory. I love the thinking behind it. No notes!! 💗

[systlin]

You know I have repeatedly seen people in the forums of the hellpits of the Interwebs I have crawled through on this cursed quest for knowledge be like 'oh yeah the early ones are just planetary swords and sorcery fantasy they aren't that bad for the first five books'.

This, my friends, is a filthy fuckass lie.

Book THREE is this

And everything in this book is batshit

Go ahead if you don't believe me.

To summarize a lot of shit more succinctly;

Tarl ends up on Gor again for Reasons. He in the last book found that his city of Ko Ro Ba was burnt to the ground by the Flame Death for Reasons, and swore revenge upon the Priest Kings.

(No, it is never answered what the Priest Kings are priests OF. Themselves, I assume?)

So, he goes to the Sardar, where they're supposed to live. The Sardar is a mountain range that is entirely walled off with a log palisade. I will let y'all do the mental math on how absolutely bugfuck wild it would be to build a wall around an entire mountain range. He's told a few times that anyone who goes into the mountains dies, but goes anyway because He's A Speshul Boy.

He of course finds the door to the underground high tech ant nest that the Priest Kings call the Nest. It is guarded by two saber toothed tigers on chains. I would think giant two million year old ant wasp praying mantids could get a better security system but I guess not. He does some Manly Posturing but is about to get mauled to death when, unfortunately, a dude lets him in.

The dude who is like the butler or secretary or whatever for the Priest Kings is named Parp.

Fucking

Parp

Anyway Tarl is put in a room with a hot lady named Vika who is a slave. She insists she hates him because Norm seems to think that showing scorn and hatred is how women flirt (this is a common thread through all his books.) Tarl finds her disagreeable because she doesn't beg to suck his dick immediately. If I were her I would have killed him with a straight razor but whatever.

So THEN there's like fifty pages of bullshit about slavery and how it's totally great for women and they love it it makes their hot love oils just GUSH, and yes I am sorry for writing that sentence. Eventually Tarl escapes the little room and sees an actual Priest King, and goes, predictably, 'what the hell is this thing'

The Priest King introduces itself as Misk. Misk says that Priest Kings have no genders save for the Queen and her mate, but Tarl insists on calling the genderless alien bug 'him' through the whole book. Now, you will remember that Tarl came to this place in the first fucking place because he wanted to kill the Priest Kings for destroying his city, which is a fine motivation!

It goes out the window here. Misk tells Tarl that Tarl is a Good Special Friend Boy and Tarl is immediately like we are friends and I would die for you. Misk immediately shows friendship by putting Tarl in a Contraption that gives him a forced medical examination and cleaning and laxative. This is not the last time this happens to Tarl and you can really map out some of Norm's kinks by following such threads.

SO IT TURNS OUT that the Priest Kings and MISK SPECIFICALLY leveled Tarl's city to get his attention so that Misk could send Tarl on a quest for the last queen egg of the Priest Kings. Because, see, the old mother is, well, old. She isn't laying eggs any longer, and the priest kings are all, minimum, thousands of years old. Misk is two million years old. Process that for a sec.

Okay.

Anyway there has been an ongoing power struggle in the nest because a lot of the Priest Kings don't want to give up power, and power is determined by birth order from the current Mother. So several Priest Kings have been killing queen eggs for several million years. Misk smuggled out the last one and now wants it back to hatch a new mother. You will know where it is if you read my hatefic.

Leave aside the fact that there is no fucking way that egg is still viable. This is apparently A Threat, so Sarm...the main egg killing PK...and Misk now engage in a power struggle, each trying to use Tarl to kill the other. There is a scene involving gollums with suction cup feet milking the priest kings that is the weirdest fucking thing I've ever read, and I've read some weird shit.

Oh. Also there is a golden beetle that eats PK's. It exudes a pheremone that makes them nut so far as I can tell? And then it slurps their innards out like a spider. It also reproduces in the most horrible way. If you've read Bloodchild by Octavia Butler you know what I mean. It's sacred to the Priest Kings for some fucking reason. They offer Vika to it for this purpose, but Tarl saves her and now she loves him.

Also the PK's have thousands of slaves in the nest. They shave them utterly bare, make them wear plastic, and make them shower six times a day. Any who misbehave are sent to the Dissection Room. They theoretically all eat a kind of bland white fungus and vitamin pellets but I call horseshit. Slave Pellets Are People, folks.

SO. There's a big war in the Nest over who gets to be in charge. Norm manages to make a laser gun battle over a glowing probably nuclear reactor boring. They almost explode the planet but don't, and Misk's side eventually wins. Tarl sets out to retrieve the last queen egg for Misk, having utterly forgotten his fury at his actual whole city being leveled, with presumably his Free Companion and his father among the dead. But well, Misk gave him headpats and a literal gerbil cage to live in, so I guess that's enough for him.

The book ends there. It's. It's absolute fucking batshittery, every word of it. And I'm cutting out all the nonsense about slavery and how Men Are Natural Masters and women are Natural Slaves and a solid 50% of the more mundane but still absolutely wild shit here.

THIS IS BOOK THREE. THIS STILL HAD AN EDITOR

you know, as you are the resident Tumblr expert on the gor books, I for one would love it if you were to write a summary/essay/rant for some of the books so the rest of us can know what's going on without actually having to read it. I'm morbidly curious but not subjecting myself to that. I'm certain that you would to a wonderful entirely objective not at all opinionated job. So if you ever feel like bashing the books publicly some more, please do

oh, god

I should actually. I should. But god damn there's so many and every one of them has new heinous shit

For now, I'll drop this knowledge; in the most recent, published only last year, the protag is Agnes, an astrophysicist working at a small radio observatory.

This is important because she notes some weird shit in the orbit of Jupiter. As in, radio signals that are clearly of intelligent origin. She does the thing you would do, which is check to see if there are any probes there. There are not.

So she pokes her nose in further, and finds the Kurii planetoid ships. Thinking 'this can't be right' she sends. She sends the data. She sends the data to fucking. Colleagues to verify it.

Colleagues working at the VLA with SETI

The Kurii then 'vanish' her to gor, where the regular 'oh I love being a slave actually' shit plays out. She's told that this will be shut down on earth by one (1) senior scientist in Kurii pay saying it's nonsense no shut up don't look there again.

Me; dude. DUDE. IF SHE SENT THAT DATA TO SETI THEY ARE COUNTING HULL RIVETS ON THOSE THINGS WITH THE VLA AND EVERY ASTROPHYCISIST ON THE PLANET KNOWS NOW. IT'S GAME OVER BRO. CAT OUT OF BAG AND YOU WROTE IT YOURSELF.

THE ASTROPHYSICISTS SMELL UNLIMITED GRANT FUNDING DUDE. THEY ARE SEEING THEIR NAME IN TEXTBOOKS. IT'S OVER MAN.

EARTH IS GONNA BE LANDING SHIPS WITHIN A YEAR, DUDE

[rueharley]

"It's not In my nature to"

Rafe cameron x Reader girlfriend

Where Reader and Rafe cameron get into an argument over why reader has been distant. Mostly for me to just vent out; things have been tough lately.

+ make up (I promise it's a happy ending)

.....................................................................

"Baby, talk to me," Rafe said with a tone influenced with a hidden plea. His eyes were trained onto me like a sniper, watching for any break, any hint of me opening up to him.

"I don't want to talk," I retort simply, my gaze falling anywhere but between the two sofas we were on.

My shoulders felt tense, no matter me trying to remain calm. Although I felt my throat being tight, I restrained myself from clenching my jaw, the gesture so easily being misunderstood as contempt.

He leaned back on the sofa and huffed, "of course" he mumbled, his voice bordered on anger, this was a point that wasn't lost on me.

I find anger unbearable and terrifying, yet clearly not enough to pull me from my old bad habits.

He looked across to me, i could almost see him as he considered if he should push me or not.

His icy blue eyes flickered across my face, analysing what the hell was wrong with my and why I was always so defensive.

I exhaled slowly, I felt this deep undercurrent of shame, of disgust with myself.

He, of course, was right. I should confide in him, talk to him, speak to him, say something to him. Regardless of the irrational, morbid, or even absurd concerns of mine, I shouldn't be hiding from him like this.

This is a default defence of mine - It is destructive.

"Can you give me some idea on what's wrong?" he spoke pulling me from my thoughts.

His voice was still filled with annoyance but he tried to keep reasonable, and I was grateful for that.

I ran through all the thoughts in my head. Give him something, anything, just try.

"is it.. Your family? Did something happen with them?" he spoke tentatively, trying to encourage me.

I shook my head, the simple act of speaking was now something that felt impossible. How can emotions manage to disable your most practiced actions so competently?

"Your friends..?" his words assaulted the air and I could only feel bad for making him guess.

He shouldn't have to guess what was wrong, the whole reason I didn't tell him because I think I'm being sensitive. It's not a secret, just something I wanted to blow over.

A moment of silence passed as he contemplated continued questioning. It's strange how well we read each other, yet sometimes we can't reach each other at all.

He sighed softly, he knew by my little reaction that my response was a no.

"is it.. Me? Did I do something?" he said with an almost unnoticed increase of frustration. His eyes watched me a bit closer, I wondered if he already knew.

It didn't even cross my mind to verbalise agreement. Yet in my mind the words 'yes' were speaking.

A tactical pause enveloped the room, a tactical pause or a hesitant falter - I'm ignorant to the difference.

I nodded so delicately, as if my agreement could cause an entire war from the simple gesture.

The ticking clock on the wall was mocking us. Mocking our inability to be as readable and consistent as it was. But this is a bit of a random and unnecessary thought.

His gaze focused and I felt the room's atmosphere intensify. I think I just confused the hell out of him while simultaneously giving him the relief of something close to an answer.

"I did something?" his voice was lower and genuinely curious, "what did I do, baby?"

I watched his bewildered face, it made me feel a pang of guilt. This was the whole reason I never wanted to tell him in the first place.

I looked to my hands, I was now rethinking everything I felt, gushing with guilt or was it remorse, I'm not sure what the difference is.

I need to speak, I have to speak.

I can feel him waiting to hear me and for some reason it feels like a climax to an undefinable end.

What is it that I'm overthinking, I havnt even said a word yet.

But that's the thing; words are unbearable. Who gave humans the ability to speak, yet be misunderstood with a strange sense of eagerness. Words hold no solace, they simply lack the inbetweens that might articulate my feelings.

Maybe there are not enough words to describe what is happening to me - or maybe I was never supposed to try.

I was suddenly pulled from my thoughts, Rafes gaze was still on me and he knew I was thinking about the exact thing he did.

"it is something you did"

My words were like a storm and the silence that followed were like a palpitation.

His expression hardened as I confirmed that the source of the issue was him.

I knew that if looks could speak, ours would be screaming at each other in multiple languages. Not angrily, just because at times we can both be very expressive people.

He could read in my pretty bland expression that I wasn't going to go any further into this. Admitting it was him at the root of it was an achievement in itself.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration and concern sat precariously on his handsome features.

I loved him so much.

He leans forward, closing some of the distance between us. His eyes were focused with a hint of determination.

"Can you at least let me know what it is that I did?" he spoke lowly and carefully. He was really trying to understand this confusing rift between us.

"No.." I say quietly, speaking a bit quicker than I wanted to and instantly regretting it. That was my best opportunity to open up and I lost it with my own stubbornness.

A flicker of anger met his face. His icy gaze, not colder, but deeper, as if challenged by the extent of his own emotions.

"You won't even tell me? Why are you being so damn frustrating..?"

Without missing a beat from his harsher reply I replied

"You were the one trying to get it out of me when I didn't want to say anything." my tone wasn't too harsh, I never could be too harsh with him, but it definitely carried some heat.

Rafe scoffed as he looked away for a moment. His gaze remained in the distance, he was trying to calm himself.

The slow realisation that seems to be felt simultaneously during arguing came into the room. A mutual recognising that we do love each other, that arguing is kinda stupid.

"You're not making this very easy" he spoke gently, his gaze still away.

"It's not In my nature to" I replied, ensuring that silence wouldn't have arrested the room.

His unintentionally intense gaze came back to me.

It was so open it was almost alarming, so I looked to him with that same, surrendering agreement.

"what did I do, baby?" he spoke, his words lacking bite or challenge. His eyes were softer but focused, in no universe would I feel fonder of something.

I inhaled deeply and decided to bite the bullet. Face it. I loved him and love makes you have to do hard things.

"I'm just a bit.. Scared.." I began to say, my words delicate, my words precise, and with a little too much thought.

"Come here, baby," Rafe practically whispered as he tapped the sofa besides him.

I moved to besides him, the soft feeling of comfort meeting my body from his simple gesture.

I sat besides him and he rests his hand on my thigh.

I was sat close enough that I could smell the faint scent of his cologne.

"why are you scared, baby?" he asks quietly, his gaze ducking to stay on mine.

"I just.. I realised how serious this relationship is now.. That we are tied, like that" I say, crossing my fingers following the gesture of two souls intertwined.

I noticed how a flicker of confusion met with his eyes, yet he remained quiet to let me speak.

"I'm scared because I realised this is headed one way and that this is a serious, long term relationship" I spoke, a bit more confidently now.

"baby.." he bagan to reply, his gaze flickering off as he collected his words. "so you've been off and distant lately.. Because of a good thing..?"

"well 'good thing' is all about perspective.." my voice trailed slightly.

"no, baby," he cut me off, his tone a bit harsher, "it is not a bad thing. This relationship is a good thing, it's precious to us both, so you'll be fine,"

"but-"

"No, this isn't something you get upset over. Don't get upset over good things," He said his tone lightening to his more usual confident tone.

I sighed, not convinced.

He moved closer to me and held the side of my neck with his hand. His eyes watched me with their usual fondness and ease.

"my pretty girl" he murmurs.

I smiled slightly under his gaze, his words sounded so beautiful.

"I've always gotta keep an eye on your thoughts, huh"

I tutted at his choice of words, however, he did aways have a way to deal with my anxieties. He often just denied them and kept reminding me of reality, and when it's coming from him it seems to work.

He moved closer, his hot breath fluttered over my skin.

"pretty, Gorgeous, baby.. Mine, my baby," he murmers, almost inaudible.

It made my heart beat a bit quicker hearing him speak like that.

He quickly moved closer pushing his lips on to mine. He kissed me with passion and desire, somehow it blocked out all my thoughts.

He continued to kiss me, our lips moving against each others desperately.

I pushed against the kiss wanting more, yet he pulled away, much to my dismay.

I huffed out in protest.

"need to know you'll talk to me about this stuff in the future, baby," he says quietly resting his forehead against mine.

I nodded in response, as agreement.

"yeah?" he says wanting me to copy him for a verbal reply. His eyes bored into mine.

"yeah." I reply with promise.

"good girl, I love you, my baby," he says moving and kissing me lightly on the forehead.

"I love you too"

[thewitchblue]

"Did you join the fucking military?"

Jason asked Tim, who blinked blankly at Jason until he noticed what he was holding. Jason was holding your military tags, which Tim's selfishly kept to himself when you "lost" them. Technically, he stole the tags from you, but you can always get a new set. You'll be matching! He did feel a little bad that you got in trouble with leadership when you asked for new ones, but he's sure you'd be fine without the old pair.

"No."

Tim didn't elaborate further. The tags have practically lived on him since he stole them. He only ever takes them off for showers, which is how Jason found them. Jason scoffed,

"Good. You'd be a shit soldier. Why do you have military dog tags?"

Tim tried to take them back, but Jason held them above his head. Your dog tags are air jailed until he gets answers. Jason needed to know.

"Answer or I'll find a place to smelt them down."

Tim knew he was serious by the gleam in Jason's eyes, so he said,

"My girlfriend is in a special forces unit for the marines. She refuses to tell me which unit she's in, but I've narrowed it down."

Jason was too stunned to notice that he dropped your dog tags. Tim snatched them off the floor and put them safely around his neck again and tucked under his shirt where they belonged. He likes to say that you're closer to his heart with your tags under his shirt with the bonus of protecting him from any potential bullets. Even when you are gone, you promise that you will always come back. He's used to your deployment and the limbo you have him in.

"When do I get to meet her?"

Dick said from the doorway. He was passing by and overheard. His little Timmy has a girlfriend? When did that happen?

Tim touches the tags while thinking of what to reveal and what to keep private. He's never been good at respecting privacy, but he has been learning for you. He knows to keep anything you say to him a secret, but what about other things relating to you?

"Whenever she wants. I'm not her keeper."

Tim answered vaguely. He's flying to see you soon, and he doesn't want to be followed. You've been together for three years, but you met kind of awkwardly. You tackled him to the ground and wrestled with him after mistaking him for one of your friends.

Your willpower eventually overcame his reflexes, and he stopped struggling. You had laughed when you pinned him down and ruffled his hair in victory. It was embarrassing to him how quickly he submitted to you. He watched your eyes widen when you noticed he's not your friend. You took in the scene too slowly. You, straddling who you had assumed was your friend with your hands pinning his wrists to both sides of his head, and Tim blushing underneath you. Tim didn't know how to react either, so you both stared at each other before you started awkwardly apologising.

Tim was a mess, but he was an adorable mess. His hair was ruffled, and his clothes were wrinkled, but there were no bruises nor any scrapes. You were always careful to leave no injuries. He was breathless, just staring at you with wide eyes and a shyness that almost made you smile. He was so cute that you wanted to squish him.

You quickly got off of him once you realised how long you've been staring at him. You pulled him up from the ground when he didn't make a move to stand by himself and actually almost fell right back to the ground because his legs refused to work for him. He was understandly stunned.

This is awkward. How do you explain the tradition of you fighting your friend on sight? Your friend does the exact same thing with you. It was excellent training for your deployment to fight each other on sight without any prep. Enemy soldiers aren't going to reveal themselves before attacking, so surprise attacks help keep your reflexes sharp.

"Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

He couldn't get the image of you pinning him down out of his head. Nobody has ever pinned him down so intimately. You were gentle. Your hold would have been easy to break out of if he didn't stop struggling. It was like you only played until one of you got pinned, and then the fight was over.

Tim was still trying to remember how to function. What does he do? What does he say? He's all shaken up. He had to look away from you. He managed to say,

"It's fine."

He tried to sound like it was no big deal, but it sounded strained. He was pretending like the wrestling really took it out of him by fake panting, but you both knew better. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but pat his back and attempted to leave.

Attempted, being the key word. Tim caught your wrist loosely and nervously said,

"I, uh... would you... Can we... Let's... I'm sorry."

He didn't have the words with you looking at him like that. He was nervous. You smiled softly at him, and he forgot how to speak entirely. He could only stare until you took the initiative and asked him to go on a date before you leave for boot camp. He nodded, and that was that. You gave him your number and continued your run like nothing happened.

The date went amazing. It was a bit unconventional as you took him to a paint gun fight after showing him the gun and explaining the rules. You grinned every time he landed a hit and even wiped away the paint that splattered onto him with a fond expression. You opened up about the fear you have about joining the military, but your desire to help. You want to make a difference, however small or large that may be.

You kissed the bruising wounds softly and banaged the bleeding ones before he could even reach for the first aid kit you brought. You helped him up with a wild grin, and he kissed you until the adrenaline ran out. The guns were empty, and you both were messes, but your hearts were full, and Tim can safely say he hates paintballing. You took him to see a movie like a normal person next date.

Jason and Dick watched their brother soften further and further as he went down memory lane. Dick was ecstatic and already plotting to meet you, but Jason was confused why anybody would date Tim. Yeah, he's had his fair share of partners, but he's surprised every time he gets a date, let alone a girlfriend.

You were his mystery girl, and their family loves a good mystery.

[linoxpudding]

Like Father, Like Son- Lee Know

summary: when your son gets in fight at school, you realise he's just as possessive as his dad

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: fluff, humor, married with kids

word count: 989 words

Masterlist

*Mingi and his friends are all 8 year olds*

~°~

You were in the middle of folding laundry when your phone rang. The moment you saw "Mingi's School" flashing on the screen, your heart skipped a beat. Parental instincts kicked in immediately—had he gotten hurt? Was he in trouble?

"Hello?" you answered quickly, pressing the phone to your ear.

"Mrs. Lee? This is Mrs. Park from the school administration. Your son Mingi was involved in a… disagreement with another student. We would like you and your husband to come to the principal’s office as soon as possible."

A fight? Your sweet little boy? Your mouth parted in shock, but you quickly pulled yourself together. "Of course, we’ll be there right away."

Hanging up, you immediately dialed your husband.

"Hey, babe. Miss me already?" Minho’s smooth voice came through the speaker.

"Minho, I just got a call from Mingi’s school. He got into a fight!"

There was a beat of silence before Minho asked, "Did he win?"

"LEE MINHO!"

"Okay, okay, bad timing," he chuckled. "I’m on my way. Be outside in five."

As promised, your husband pulled up a few minutes later. He barely put the car in park before you got in, crossing your arms. Minho glanced at you with a smirk, sensing your frustration.

"Relax, jagiya. It’s his first fight—it was bound to happen."

"That is NOT the attitude we’re taking into the principal’s office, Minho."

Minho shrugged, casually driving towards the school. "Just saying, boys fight. It’s a part of growing up. At least he’s standing up for himself."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just hope it’s not serious…"

When you arrived at the school, the receptionist immediately directed you to the principal’s office. As soon as you stepped inside, your eyes landed on your son, Mingi, sitting on a chair, arms crossed, lips in a deep pout. Beside him, Rowoon sat in the exact same position—his dark eyes glaring at the floor and your jaw dropped. Your son got into a fight with Hyunjin’s son.

Your eyes flickered over to Hwang Hyunjin and his wife sitting.

You exchanged glances before Hyunjin let out a small chuckle. His wife covered her mouth, failing to stifle her laughter.

"Oh my God," you muttered under your breath.

Minho, standing beside you, took one look at Hyunjin and grinned. "So our sons fought?"

Hyunjin nodded, shaking his head. "Like father, like son, huh?"

Minho smirked, clearly too amused by the situation. "Who threw the first punch?"

"They both claim the other did," Hyunjin’s wife answered, sighing. "But the real issue here is why they fought."

Your heart dropped. "Why?"

Hyunjin grinned, exchanging a look with Minho before saying, "Over Han Jisung’s daughter, Minsoo."

You gaped. "You mean to tell me our sons fought over a girl?!"

The principal cleared her throat, clearly unimpressed with the casual atmosphere between the parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Lee, Mr. and Mrs. Hwang, while this situation may seem amusing to you, fighting is not acceptable in this school. We will not tolerate violence, even if it was over… romantic disputes at such a young age."

You turned to Mingi, giving him the look. His little lips pursed stubbornly, but he avoided your gaze.

"We understand," you assured the principal. "This won’t happen again."

After wrapping up the meeting and ensuring no serious consequences would be given (other than an apology and a week of lunch clean-up duty), you and Minho took Mingi home.

---

As soon as you stepped into the house, you turned to your son.

"Alright, Mingi. Start talking. Why did you fight Rowoon?"

Mingi, still pouting, huffed. "He said Minsoo liked him more. But she told me she likes me better!"

Your mouth fell open. "So you punched him because of that?!"

"He called me a liar first!" Mingi defended himself.

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. "That is not how we solve problems, Mingi. Just because someone says something you don’t like doesn’t mean you start throwing punches!"

"But he punched me back!"

"And you should’ve walked away!"

Mingi crossed his arms. "No. He deserved it."

You groaned in frustration before turning to your husband. "Minho, please deal with your mini version before I lose my mind."

Minho crouched in front of his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Mingi, buddy, listen. I’m proud that you stood up for yourself—"

"LEE MINHO!" You gave him a deadly glare.

Minho immediately coughed, straightening up. "Uh, what I meant was, fighting is bad. Really bad. We should use our words, not our fists."

Mingi frowned. "But I did use my words. He didn’t believe me."

Minho bit back a smirk, and you shot him another warning look. He quickly sobered up.

"Apologize to Rowoon tomorrow, alright?" Minho said, ruffling his son’s hair.

Mingi huffed, clearly unhappy, but mumbled, "Fine."

"Good." You sighed, relieved that this was resolved—for now.

As Mingi stomped off to his room, you turned to Minho, narrowing your eyes. "Why do I feel like you’re secretly proud of him?"

Minho smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. "Because I am."

You groaned. "Minho! We’re supposed to be setting a good example!"

"He’s just like me," Minho mused, grinning. "Possessive over what’s his."

You rolled your eyes, playfully smacking his arm. "So possessive. Just like you."

Minho tilted his head, his gaze softening as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "My son, after all."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Should we tell Jisung to start planning their wedding?"

Minho burst into laughter. "Oh, Jisung’s gonna lose his mind."

"Good. He deserves it after all the teasing he’s done to us."

Minho pulled you even closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss against your lips. "Then let’s make a deal. You handle Jisung, and I’ll handle our little troublemaker."

You sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if Mingi gets into another fight, you get the next principal call."

Minho smirked. "Deal."

[kazumist]

SWEETLY BAKED WITH LOVE .ᐟ

✩ — in which zayne finds himself in a problem with his older patients relentlessly introducing and telling him about their daughters and granddaughters to him because he's single. what's a good way to shoo them off? perhaps wearing a keyring and fake dating your friend would do the trick!

✩ — includes: zayne x f!baker!reader. fluff. fake dating trope (not executed properly sorry i dont think i gave it justice), not much drama and confession scene is a bit boring imo :/, pace is a bit messy, based of that one part in the cdrama "the best thing", cw: food mentioned (baked sweets and wine), they're both idiots in love, wc: 7,166. i went insane Yes so what.

✩ — note: hi babes @koiukiy-o it's finally finished like can u believe it. i finished it in one fucking day initially but i woke up at 6am in the morning today (its around half past 7am by the time posting this) and added a bit more.

for zayne, being a young, famous, and favored doctor in akso hospital isn’t as pleasing as it sounds. only because the majority of his older patients try to match him up with their daughters with every given chance during their appointments scheduled with him. 

at first, it wasn’t all that serious. zayne even initially thought that maybe elderlies these days have started to grow accustomed to sharing stories of their children—of their daughters, specifically, who are coincidentally in the same age range as him. perhaps it was a new thing; yeah, that was probably it.

until the introductions became more frequent. 

ONE: AS SURPRISING AS A SUDDEN BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE AT YOUR DOOR.

from a father whose daughter is a successful certified public accountant (CPA) to a mother whose daughter is currently a cardiology resident in a nearby hospital, the names and positions of these women have started to jumble in his head. all zayne could do is take a deep breath and smoothly deflect the questions of his patients regarding his current relationship status.

“dr. zayne, you know, i have this daughter..." here we go again. zayne tunes out whatever the old woman was saying, nodding every now and then to convince her that he was interested. the old woman’s daughter was something of a business owner, though it’s not like zayne is actually paying that much attention to the description his patient was giving him. his focus is solely on the results that are in his hands.

“do you have someone special in your life right now, dr. zayne?” zayne pauses; the shuffling of the lab reports in his hands stopped as he processed the question. 

does he?

zayne doesn’t think that he does.

he has a few people that he cherishes in his life, yes. but does he think of himself settling down with someone by his side? well… not really—not yet, at least. zayne hasn’t given it that much thought himself. “before i answer that question, let’s discuss what your results have given us…” this method of zayne changing the subject works like a charm every time he does it. and with a blink of an eye, the old woman forgot her question and left after getting her new prescriptions from him.

zayne leans back on his chair, taking off his specs and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. he takes a deep breath, until his peace is interrupted by a knock at his door. the old woman should’ve been the last one; yvonne just came in and told him so not so long ago. he sits up right, fixing his posture as his professionalism starts to take over.

yet when the door creaks open to reveal you, zayne’s shoulders relax as he sits back once again.

maybe his peace wasn’t interrupted after all.

“what brings you here?” he asks you, eyeing you suspiciously as you’re obviously hiding something from him behind your back. “i come bearing gifts—one sweet little blueberry cheesecake from your favorite bakery! tadaaaa!” you say, revealing the little box to zayne and settling it on his desk, hoping he’d also envision the imaginary jazz hands you were doing before putting a plastic fork on top of it for him to use.

zayne has a sweet tooth and that’s practically common knowledge to you. and with you owning a bakery... well, let’s just say that the youngest heart surgeon in linkon city plays his favorites when it comes to shops that sell sweet pastries. 

a smile cracks onto his face as he sees the box. gently removing the fork on top and opening the box, zayne inspects the blueberry cheesecake before him as if contemplating if he should eat it now or save it when he gets home. “you don’t have to eat it now, silly. i just wanted to drop it off before your work ends today,” you say.

“no, it’s alright. i’ll eat it now. the toppings could get ruined when i travel back home.”

as he starts taking a few bites, you propped your chin onto your palm and lean on it, staring at the sweet dessert that’s slowly being consumed right in front of you. “sooo, do you have someone in your life right now, dr. zayne?” you asked him, putting emphasis on the way you called him as a sign of mockery.

zayne deadpans at your question, suddenly stopping himself from getting another bite. his expression is clearly conveying a message to you wordlessly: are you being serious right now? but zayne just sighs and continues on getting another bite before replying. “how did you know about that?”

“i heard you two through the door. and when your last patient came out—she was a delight, by the way, greeting me so kindly—she suddenly asked me if i was your girlfriend! i obviously didn’t answer her properly and good thing yvonne came in to save the day and escort her out of the cardiology department.” you told him.

the sweetness of the small piece of blueberry glides across his senses as he listens to you. zayne finds himself sighing deeply for what seems like the nth today, twirling the fork in his hand as he thinks. he doesn’t like burdening this problem of his with you, especially when you have nothing to do with it. “seems like you’re thinking about a lot there. are your thoughts being consumed by the numerous names that got mentioned to you?” you teased.

“i beg your pardon?”

“i was only kidding! you looked so deep in thought there. is everything alright?”

zayne doesn’t know either. he doesn’t know how long he could keep deflecting and changing the topics when his patients try to pry into this part of his life. he has a soft spot for his patients, sure, and he’s satisfied with his job. though zayne didn’t know that he would be signing up for this when he became a cardiac surgeon.

“yes, my apologies. i seemed to have spaced out for a moment there.”

you glance over him, observing his mannerisms and his habits. whenever zayne twirls or plays with the item in his hand, it means he’s thinking. whenever he sits back on his chair, that means he’s relaxed. yet you never seen him space out—not until now, at least—and that’s what’s different.

odd.

but you didn’t push the topic further, as you’re well aware that zayne isn’t the type to express himself so freely. and as if a light bulb literally just gained it’s light inside your brain, the gears inside your head started turning as you suddenly got an idea. “i think i just got the greatest idea of my life.” you asked him.

“and what would that be?” he asks back. should i be scared? he thinks.

“you’ll see! just you wait and look forward to the next time i’ll drop by and visit.” you flash him a grin as zayne finishes the last bit of the blueberry cheesecake.

TWO: AS ENTICING AS SIX MACARONS SERVED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.

the next time you saw each other, you didn’t visit zayne. zayne visited you, striding towards you sitting behind the counter. today was a saturday. and during saturdays, you open your shop a bit later than your usual opening time during weekdays. 

seeing the doctor visit your shop sometimes gives you a pinch of nostalgia coursing through you. you never would’ve expected to form a connection with a praised doctor in linkon in your life. but you don’t really have any regrets about it. you enjoy the surgeon’s company and he seems to enjoy yours.

“and what brings you here today, dr. zayne?” you say, greeting him as his eyes scan the pastries displayed before him. “please, refrain from the formalities. do you have anything new to recommend?” he replies.

your gaze follows his as you join him in looking for a pastry to offer. “hmm… oh! i know! you could taste test a new macaron flavor i’ve been trying. would you mind taking a seat while i got get them for you?” zayne nods before finding himself a seat and you take that as your cue to start running towards the kitchen located at the inner part of your establishment. 

when you got out, you joined him at the two-seater table he decided on, sitting across from him. “lately, i’ve been indulging myself in making macarons, right? and i wanted a different flavor for a change so i paired two ingredients together! take a bite and guess what it is.” you said, pushing the box of macarons towards him.

zayne inspects the macarons in front of him, attempting to deduce the flavor. it has a light brown color, with the filling having a deeper shade of brown. could it be two types of chocolate? he thinks. 

“staring at it will get you nowhere if you don’t actually taste it, you know.”

he snaps out of his thoughts at your words. he awkwardly coughs into his fist, avoiding your gaze. you stifled a laugh at him but zayne noticed it, feeling his ears grow hot. “ahem. pardon me for that. i’ll taste them now.” he says, grabbing a piece of the pastry. as soon as he takes a bite, the familiar taste of coffee beans (perhaps roasted?) and nutella washes over his tongue.

you were right; this was a different flavor that you don’t see often. “it’s delicious. were the coffee beans roasted? or were they grounded?” a small gasp escapes your lips at his question. “it was roasted, yeah! i’m surprised you noticed that; i didn’t think anyone would.”

“i felt the small chunks of the coffee beans as i chewed. and nutella as a filling balances the taste of the beans. i’d say it’s a good product to endorse.”

“really?”

zayne hums in agreement, finishing the macaron in his hand before grabbing another one from the box. “i recall that you haven’t told me your “idea” yet since the last time we saw each other.” he says, before taking another bite.

“oh! sorry about that; i keep forgetting to stop by akso hospital lately. but worry not—i didn’t forget about my idea!” you replied, fishing something out of your pocket. it was a keyring, though it wasn’t that obvious at first glance. “your idea is... a keyring?” he asks.

“wrong, the keyword is ring!” you say, grabbing his hand to check if it fits on his ring finger.

you seemed unaware of the effect of your actions, suddenly taking zayne by surprise by your sudden touch. he feels the cold metal wrap around the ring finger of his dominant hand. “look, it’s a perfect fit! just remember to always have it on, especially when you have appointments and surely those introductions would be gone, right?”

zayne inspects the keyring around his finger, flipping his hand as he takes it in. “i never would’ve expected that a keyring could act as a marriage ring.” he states. “m-marriage ring?!” you exclaimed. i never really thought of it as that. you thought, mentally sweatdropping. “is it not supposed to be?” zayne’s gaze at you shows obvious confusion. “well… i guess it could serve as that. i just thought of it as some fake promise ring that you could use at most.”

“the purpose is the same. i don’t think it matters what it stands for—the main purpose of this is to show my older patients that i’m taken, right?”

“yup! it’s nothing much, really, but i feel bad for what you have to endure when you have your appointments. do you think it would work?” you reply.

“we just have to play our cards right and then we’ll see.”

“mhm! wait—we?”

“yes, we. did i say something wrong?” there he goes again with the confused look.

“what do you mean… we?” this better not be what i’m thinking. you hoped, bracing yourself for whatever bomb he was about to drop.

but just as your luck to that runs out, zayne replies. “i thought we were both going to be wearing keyrings?” fuck, i knew it. you thought. inside your head, you can envision yourself on all fours, punching the ground as you also try to think of something—anything to reply with. 

“but you’re the only one who has this... conflict. what use would it be if i also wore one?”

before zayne could even realize it, he already took a step and started sailing in dangerous, uncharted waters. “you told me a few times, including the time that you last visited, that my patients have wondered and asked if you were my significant other. wouldn’t it be more convincing if we were to uphold that sentiment?”

you swore you could feel your soul drain itself out of your body.

“so you want us to... fake date, basically? so we could stop your older patients from introducing their endless amount of daughters and granddaughters? did i get that right?” you ask again, just to be sure if what you’re hearing is actually right and real.

“yes, you’re quite spot-on.” 

“you’re lucky that i have two keyrings by coincidence.”

well, it’s not like it’s going to be anything serious. and it’s also beneficial for me because they also pester me with their questions every time i visit. the offer is way a bit enticing for it’s own good—but everything should be fine.

with a soft sigh and one macaron left on the box (you and zayne were snacking on them as you had your discussion), you spoke again. “you’ve got yourself a deal. you better start wearing that keyring, dr. zayne.”

“i don’t think you should be calling me that when we’re supposed to portray ourselves like a couple.” he remarked.

you choke on your own saliva at his statement. “w-we’ll talk about the other details another day! how does the next time i visit—which i actually promise to do now—sound?” cursing yourself for stammering (but how could you not when he caught you so off guard?), you try your best not to embarrass yourself any further. “that sounds good.”

as the last macaron on the box you served gets consumed, you find yourself securing a peculiar deal with a certain heart surgeon.

THREE: AS SOUR AS A BITE OF STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MELTING ON YOUR TONGUE.

staying true to your promise, you visited zayne a few days after his visit to your bakery. you had the same keyring wrapped around your ring finger, hoping to find zayne the same. “are you busy?”

he glances at you from his monitor and you notice that his shoulders relax again when he realizes it was you in the doorway. “what pastry do you have in store for me this time?” he asks you as you approach to have yourself a seat on the small couch.

“sadly there’s no pastry today; i accidentally forgot to grab one from the bakery’s fridge before i left but next time i’ll bring you some strawberry shortcake!”

“i’ll take note of that.”

zayne then continues to speak. “about where we stopped our discussion last time... would it be okay with you to completely drop with the formalities in general? you don’t have to call me dr. zayne, especially when we’re in the hospital.”

“what do i call you then?”

“zayne would be just fine. almost no one calls me that here.”

“zayne, huh… zayne, zayne… zayne.” you repeat his name to get yourself used to it. “alright then, doct—i mean, zayne.”

he nods at you in acknowledgement as you shift your gaze at his dominant hand. surely enough, you saw that keyring on his finger. “i see you’re wearing the keyring. did it work so far?” you ask him. “actually, yes, it did. the introductions lessened and i found myself at peace with most of my appointments today.”

“so my plan does work. huh, i never would’ve thought.” zayne takes this as an opportunity to reply. “how about you? did your keyring work?” 

“not yet, i guess? when i arrived, yvonne told me that your appointments and checkups were done for the day. so i didn’t really encounter any of your patients today. maybe next time.”

-

zayne visited your bakery during the weekend again. although unfortunately, you weren’t there. one of your employees said that you were busy with an errand today so zayne just got a slice of yet another blueberry cheesecake on the go and quickly made his leave.

(he doesn’t see why he would stay when he isn’t sure of what time you’d return.)

-

the next time you and zayne saw each other, you had forgotten to bring the strawberry shortcake you told him back then. but what did happen is that you encountered a few familiar patients of zayne’s. they were all women who looked like they’re in their mid-sixties in a group of three. they were chatting nearby the entrance to zayne’s office when they spotted you.

and apparently, one of them recognized you.

“hello, dear. you’re the one who brings dr. zayne snacks, right? i remember seeing you here before.” she says, approaching you. “ah, yes! that would be me.” you let out a soft chuckle at her. “how kind of you to do so! are you perhaps his girlfriend?” another woman asks. the woman who approached you (who introduced herself as violet), shushes her friend. “don’t throw sudden questions at the lady! sorry about her, dear.”

the third woman in their group suddenly perks up and points at your hand. “look violet, her ring looks familiar... where have i seen it before, i wonder?” as soon as she said that, all three of the women’s attention was now all on your hand with the keyring on it. 

“isn’t that like the ring on dr. zayne’s hand?”

there was then a moment of silence before they all realized what that question meant. 

after escaping the clutches of their neverending queries (that you tried to answer as much as you could, and you never could’ve escaped without yvonne’s help of escorting them out), you finally got to knock on zayne’s office.

“come in.” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

once you settle down yourself inside, you let out a huge and relieved sigh. “was there a commotion outside? i heard multiple voices through the door, one of them being yours.” zayne asks.

“ah, well it turns out that your patients are really observant. did you know i had to make up some fake story on the spot of how we met?”

“is that so? do you mind telling me what this story is? they might ask about it the next time they come for a checkup.” he replies. 

the actual story of how you and zayne met wasn’t really that far off from the one you told the small group of old ladies. 

(it was dusk when you encountered zayne on the sidewalk; you accidentally bumped into him and he noticed you were seemingly in a rush. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i wasn’t looking where i was running.” zayne waves his hand dismissively. “it’s alright, are you hurt?” 

“not at all—” you checked the time with your wrist watch. “crap! uhm, excuse me, sir. do you know if there’s a flower shop nearby here? i’m in a terrible need of dried flowers at the moment.” you ask him.

zayne thought about it for a moment, trying to recall if there is one. he then tells you the directions to the flower shop he has seen in the area and you immediately thanked him. “thank you, thank you so much! feel free to drop by the cozy oven. my treat for helping me! thank you again, kind sir!” you say before running off in the direction he told you.

that was first time you met him and you were sure that was also the first time he met you.

but what if it isn’t?)

“oh, you know, i just told them some silly old cliche where i bumped into you while holding two bouquets of flowers and decided to treat you to some coffee as an apology. nothing that out of the ordinary, really.”

“noted. they’ll probably ask me about which bouquet it was next time.” this time it was his turn to let out a sigh.

“oh yeah! one of my staff members said you visited the bakery last weekend. sorry, i was busy that time. my friend ordered a cake for this event and i was also invited to it so i had to leave the job of handling the bakery to my employees.” you told him. “it’s alright, don’t fret.”

that day ended with zayne offering you a ride home.

-

the next few times you and zayne were together after that, you swear something was changing.

you never thought zayne could be the touchy type; he grabs ahold of your hand, going as far as interlocking your fingers together. hell, he even puts his hand on your waist when you’re walking in public.

you knew what you were getting into when you both agreed on that deal. but it’s just so... strange. scary, if you think about it.

how is he so good at this? no, more like—

why does it feel so real?

zayne is an attractive man, and that was certainly a fact. smart, rich, handsome, and well-mannered—he’s even soft spoken for goodness sake! that man has got it all, which is no wonder why some of his patients would want to set up their daughter with him. any woman would be lucky to experience what it’s like to be loved by him.

but is this what it feels like?

perhaps.

that was all you could say—after all, this is all just a fake setup so you both could shoo away his patients.

yet if it was all fake, why were your faces suddenly so close to one another right now? your lips were close to brushing against each other; one small nudge and you’d find out what it was like to kiss zayne.

the sudden phone ring echoing somewhere in the room snaps the both of you out of it.

as you both pull away out of surprise, zayne picks up the phone. “this is zayne speaking.” he says.

you just sat there on his couch, wondering many things.

it’s just a fake stunt. don’t get sidetracked, (y/n).

but why is it that whenever you remind yourself that it is fake, an uncertain pang hits your chest? you never could tell zayne this; he might think you suddenly have a heart condition and be concerned (and you wouldn’t be surprised because he is someone who is under cardiology).

this could be nothing. no, scratch that; it is nothing. zayne is an impossible man to reach, and he is only a friend to you.

nothing more, nothing less.

-

the next time you visited zayne at akso hospital, you finally had a slice of strawberry shortcake stored safely in a box for him.

you were still distracted by the time you two almost kissed, but you couldn’t let zayne know that for obvious reasons.

at this point in your fake dating plan, his patients are all convinced that you both are together, finding it cute and squealing in awe when you see each other in the hallway where his office is located. you were surprised at how well you and zayne were pulling this off. 

“special delivery for dr. zayne?” you say, peeking through the door to check if he’s busy. “and what did i order this time?” he asks back. you take that as your cue to step inside. “one slice of a promised and long overdue strawberry shortcake!” you told him, setting down the small box and another plastic fork on top of the box.

“about time you remembered.” he says, taking the fork and opening the box. the familiar scent of strawberry shortcake then circulates around the two of you, which made zayne take a bite almost immediately. “are you planning on visiting the bakery this weekend?” you then ask him.

zayne swallows before he speaks. “i have thought about it, yes. and i was actually planning to ask you about your weekend plans today actually.”

“oh? why?”

“i was just wondering if you’d like to make plans with me since i’m usually off-duty during weekends.”

you become a bit awkward as soon as zayne says that. and zayne, being as observant as ever, obviously noticed it. “is there something wrong? it’s okay if you’re busy.” you waved your hands at him, “no, no! it’s not like that. well, kinda i guess? ugh, it’s just that…”

“i may or may not have agreed to go on a blind date this weekend.”

if zayne hadn’t listened that carefully, he would’ve missed it. but no, he caught every single word that slipped out of you. the sour taste of the sliced strawberry, along with the spongy texture of the cake, suddenly felt like sand in zayne’s mouth. and as ironic as that, he suddenly feels iffy as soon as you say that—like he was also sour. “is that so… that’s alright. you should enjoy your plans instead.”

“wait. you’re not mad?”

am i mad? zayne mentally asked himself. he doesn’t think he is, but he does somewhat feel disturbed by the idea of you going on a date with another man, and that doesn’t feel right to him either. “i’m not. why would i be mad?” a lie.

you stiffen at your seat, trying to come up with an explanation. that question just slipped off of your tongue; you didn’t mean to ask that. “well, uhm.. you know, because we’re in this fake dating thingy, i just thought it would be weird to you if i were to go see someone else and all that, yeah.”

“you said it yourself; this is all fake. so i’m not stopping you if you want to do that.”

ouch? why does his confirmation that it’s nothing serious get a kick to it? you thought. “really? okay then, thanks for letting me know.” 

zayne couldn’t shake off the sourness of the strawberry from his tongue. and the thing is—the strawberries that you use for your products aren’t even that sour. it was more sweet than sour in the first place. so why? why can’t he get the sourness off?

why does he suddenly feel so bitter at the thought of you seeing someone else?

the rest of the hour felt a bit suffocating after that.

FOUR: AS BLAND AS MISSING THE DELECTABLE TASTE OF YOUR COMPANY.

when the weekend rolled around, zayne didn’t visit your bakery. he didn’t find a need to because you weren’t there. he wasn’t close to your staff and he doesn’t really want to get close to them. and zayne isn’t that close with a lot of people in general, so he decided to spend his weekend at home.

he thinks about the conversation he had with you when you brought up the topic of having a blind date scheduled today.

and he still feels sour about that. he doesn’t know why. 

then he suddenly remembers the one time when he was so close to feeling your lips on his. zayne hoped that he wasn’t obvious but this moment had perhaps made him short circuit. your face was so close—he could take every little detail of your features with the distance.

but you just had to have this blind date today.

zayne feels even more sour after that.

he was a doctor, yes, but he obviously isn’t an expert in psychology or emotions. so as he unlocks his phone, he opens the web browser installed and types in the search bar.

now, jealousy was a foreign concept for zayne. 

he stares blankly at the results his search shows him, a part of him refusing to believe that what he was feeling was jealousy and the rational part of him telling himself that if this isn’t it, what else could it be?

but another question puts him in a dilemma. why is he even jealous in the first place? 

of course you can go see other people. he doesn’t have the right to be mad about that. zayne didn’t own you, and you didn’t own zayne. if he were in your position, you’d just let him go on that blind date.

yet the idea of you falling in love with another makes him uneasy.

oh.

oh.

zayne wasn’t stupid. he didn’t need to drown himself in any more thoughts on this matter to realize what was happening to him.

he was falling.

falling for you, to be specific.

and there’s nothing that could help him.

-

being forced into a blind date never goes well. and you swore that you'd strangle your friend who forced you into this in the first place.

“so, what do you do for a living?” your date asks before sipping from his glass of red wine. “oh, i’m a baker. i run a bakery, actually. it’s located nearby akso hospital.” 

“is that so? what do you usually bake?”

“i bake all sorts of things! from cakes to macarons—“ you pause when you say macarons. you suddenly recall the day when you asked zayne to taste test your new macaron flavor. you cleared your throat to regain composure.

“sorry about that; something just came to mind. but like i said, i bake a whole lot of cakes and pastries. i like to experiment with new flavors, you see. what about you?”

“oh, i’m currently a resident at akso hospital actually!” the man before you says. “really? under which department?” you ask him. “cardiology. i always found the heart a fascinating thing to study.”

you tried to hold yourself back from choking on your wine. “c-cardiology, you say…?” hearing the term come out of your date’s mouth has something uncomfortable bubbling up inside of you. your mind finds itself drifting back to zayne—

what am i even thinking? get a grip (y/n)! you’re on a date for fuck’s sake!

“mhm. one of my mentors is really nice, a bit cold but i know he’s just really like that. his name is dr. zayne, by the way.” and as if the universe is mocking you right now, your date just had to say that his mentor was zayne of all people.

“i think i’ve heard of him once or twice, yeah. he’s a good heart surgeon, right?”

as time seemed to pass by, you could feel yourself feeling more distracted. when the waiter came to ask if you’d like any dessert, your mind immediately thought of zayne.

while looking through the dessert menu, you wondered if zayne would like what this restaurant is offering. what would zayne’s opinion be on this? 

and your date continues to speak, the sole fact that he’s a resident under zayne, was enough to sidetrack your mind towards him. 

zayne, zayne, zayne. this whole date has done nothing but remind you of the doctor.

by the time the date was over, you entered the door to your apartment complex (which is located above your bakery) and slid against the door as soon as you closed it.

removing your heels as you were on the floor, you let out a sigh. “what the fuck is going on with me tonight?” you asked no one in particular.

the date wasn’t even bad but nothing about it felt right for you. like there was something clearly wrong with the whole principle of you going on a blind date in the first place but you didn’t know what it was.

you try to recall what happened before the blind date happened, trying to see if something would have triggered your current state.

your recollection brings you to the time you told zayne about the blind date a few days ago. 

something felt off about him when you dropped the bomb on him that time. it’s as if something shifted in the air when you revealed your plans for the weekend to him.

“oh, god. you have got to be kidding me.” you facepalmed when the realization dawned upon you.

your thoughts were running. how could’ve i been so stupid? it was written all over my face in the first place! i like zayne. holy shit i actually—

but it all stops there when you then realize what you just said. 

-

you didn’t visit zayne after your blind date. and when he visits your bakery, you hide yourself from him in the kitchen (and you also told your employees to not spill a word about your actual whereabouts, making them form excuses on what you’re up to). 

simply to say, you were avoiding zayne.

it scared you. you didn’t know what to do with your new feelings, especially when the whole fake dating thing was still ongoing for the both of you. 

how can you keep faking it all up when everything just feels so real? when you couldn’t help but wonder if you’re still friends after everything you’ve done?

zayne: Are you going to visit today?

zayne: I miss getting my special delivery.

you stared at his message, trying to process it. why did he have to say it like that? what does he mean by that? you thought.

(y/n): sorry, i can’t. 

(y/n): i need to prioritize some cake orders for now. maybe next time.

zayne: Oh, alright then.

you know full well that there most probably won’t be a next time. you’ll just keep denying and deflecting as much as you can—and as long as you can.

however, zayne knew you were avoiding him and he most definitely didn’t need to be a genius to notice that. 

but he doesn’t know why. was it something that he did? were you alright? perhaps you haven’t been feeling well as of late. were you overworking yourself lately?

zayne thinks about the time you two almost kissed again. maybe he should’ve gone for it. maybe he shouldn’t have answered that goddamn phone call. maybe—

maybe he shouldn’t have let you go on that blind date.

your phone vibrates against the pocket of your apron. you pull it out to check the notification and go blank at the sender.

zayne: Have you been well?

zayne: We haven’t seen each other lately.

his clinic hours are not the same as of late. zayne got so used to you visiting him at akso—to seeing you in general—that it just feels... bland now that you’re not present.

zayne misses you. and he wonders if you miss him too.

FIVE: AS SWEET AS KNOWING THAT I WASN’T TOO LATE.

(before you bumped into zayne on the sidewalk, you two had actually met.

once in a cafe, and once in the grocery store... zayne had noticed that since you two lived in the same community, it was bound that you’d encounter each other a lot—although you don’t really seem to notice him.

when zayne met you in the grocery store, the first thing that he noticed about you was that your shopping cart was halfway filled with baking ingredients. there were at least three (or was it four?) dozen of eggs stacked, two packs of all-purpose flour, a small bottle of sprinkles (both the colorful and chocolate ones), and a whole lot more.

at first glance, any other person would ignore you. zayne would be one of them—he had no clue why he noticed you and your shopping cart. he was only in the aisle because it’s the way to where the bread was located.

that was the first time zayne sees you.

the second time he saw you, zayne encountered you in a cafe this time. weeks passed since he saw you while he was out for groceries and you had papers sprawled all over the small table in front of you. zayne didn’t really get a good look at them but he assumed that it was all sorts of cake design from the single glance he got to have.

wedding cakes, birthday cakes, anniversary cakes. there were a whole bunch of designs. perhaps you baked for a living.

again, at first glance, any other person would ignore you. and zayne would still be one of them—though would this become a lie because isn’t it strange that it has happened twice? not like there’s anything bad with noticing you. it’s just... out of his character, per se.

the third time zayne meets you, it was the time you also recall—the encounter on the sidewalk. now, what were the chances that zayne would meet you there that late afternoon? he didn’t know. 

and with that small conversation between the two of you happening, zayne’s assumption was correct. the baking ingredients, the cake designs, and now you telling him to visit your bakery—

maybe he should visit the cozy oven during the weekend.)

around three weeks have passed since you started ignoring him. you were surprised at how well you were doing so far. not like it was hard doing so. the real challenge was to ignore his texts and make yourself reply late. 

and when he visits the bakery, which is what’s going on right now.

it was almost nine in the evening when you finished closing up your bakery. you heard footsteps getting louder, signaling that someone is walking towards you. 

“there you are.” you knew that voice anywhere.

“zayne? what are you doing here at this hour?” you ask him out of surprise. “well, a certain someone seems to be hiding from me, so i thought it was time to change my strategy and do a surprise attack. it looks like it worked.”

“ah. sorry about that... work has been a bit busy. you know?” you take in zayne’s appearance before you, eyes slightly widening at the keyring that is still on his finger.

(how ironic because you were also wearing yours at the moment. your excuse would be “it was out of pure habit.”)

“so busy that even when i visit you hide yourself from me?”

he got you there. “i—no, no! it’s just that—“ zayne cuts you off with another question. “did i do something wrong?”

“what?”

“you heard me. (y/n), did i do something wrong? i understand that you’ve been busy but something feels different. like there’s something more to it than just you being busy.” he then says. why does he have to be always so observant?

the guilt of your decisions as of late started to eat you up inside. “i… i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?” zayne asks again.

“i mean, it’s not like i literally don’t know but it’s just... did we even do the right thing? you know, fake date and all of that.”

zayne could feel the unease creeping up on him with your question. “the plan worked, did it not?”

“no, zayne. what i mean is that did we do the right thing with fake dating in the first place? because for the love of god, we almost kissed! and—and we’re both old enough to realize that friends don’t just... kiss.”

“is this about your blind date a few weeks ago?” you don’t know what he means by that. because you never met up again with that blind date, telling him that as much as it was nice to know him, you’re not really interested in giving romance a whirl for now. 

you didn’t know what to answer to that. “so it is.” he then says. you wanted to say no, but no words came out of you. it was as if your lips felt like they were sewn closed. “i guess i was too late then.”

too late?

“wait—what do you mean too late?”

zayne’s look in his eyes confused you. you couldn’t decipher the emotions that were present in his gaze. “aren’t you still seeing your blind date nowadays?”

then it all made sense to you.

zayne thinks the reason you started avoiding him was probably because he thought you hit it off with your blind date. before you could answer his question, he speaks again. “to be honest with you, recently, especially during your absence, i have come to the realization that i like you, (y/n).”

wait. what?

too speechless to cut in, he continues. “i felt off when you first said that you agreed to that blind date of yours. i just brushed it off back then but later i realized that it was because i was jealous. i soon regretted not doing anything about it—and when you started ignoring me, i couldn’t help but think that maybe you didn’t want to visit me anymore in my office as a sign of respect to your new lover.” in other words, i missed you.

you try to process everything that he just came clean about. but there is only one highlight in everything he said—he likes you. zayne likes you.

and you like him too.

“first of all, i’m really sorry for ignoring you, zayne. i honestly only did it out of fear because i recently realized that i like you too.” zayne was about to speak up when you raised a hand to shush him. “let me finish first. i never met with my blind date again after our first meeting. i told him that i kindly told him that i didn’t want to try romance for now—though that was partially a lie because i only find myself wanting to try romance out with you.”

zayne also only got one highlight out of that—you like him too. that’s all that matters to him.

“so i wasn’t too late?” he then asks.

you take a few steps closer to him. “no, zayne. you’re just in time.”  zayne’s hands find themselves on your waist. “then can i kiss you?” you shoot him a playful glare. “are you sure a phone call isn’t going to interrupt us this time?” you then say, arms wrapping themselves around his neck.

“i’m sure.”

���then you can.”

and without hesitation, zayne leans in to capture your lips with his. he could feel you smiling in the kiss, and zayne savors the faint taste of your lippie—not minding that it might have smudged on his lips now.

when you both pulled away, you couldn’t help but giggle. zayne’s lips were covered in some of your tinted lip gloss. you reach out a hand to smudge it away before pecking him a quick kiss to his nose and asking him, “do you want to come inside? i have a new macaron flavor for you to taste test.”

“is that so? what is it this time?” he replies, hands not leaving your waist.

“salted caramel! but not the ones that are sweet; i made sure that this one actually has a salty kick to it!”

zayne definitely has a sweet tooth.

yet there’s nothing more sweet than knowing that you like him too.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Task Force 141 Masked Metal Band AU x Backup Singer Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, brief mention of alcohol

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Part Two of Second Act

At the afterparty, Simon confronts you. You run to Lena for safety. During a game of pool, Simon makes you an offer.

Chapter One // Chapter Three

ao3 // main masterlist // second act masterlist

“Thought I recognized you.”

His voice is living memory, sending you down, down, down into a tangled web of barbed wire. You cannot shake it off or crawl out of it. The metal digs in. You’ll have to tear it from your flesh. Draw blood.

You were right to question why the drummer paused when exiting the stage. It was Simon, and he recognized you. The fact that you’re here only confirms whatever suspicion he had earlier.

But it’s not just him—not only him.

There are three others, watching at a distance, their gazes drilling into the back of your skull. Maybe it’s a small grace that you cannot see their expressions. Simon’s presence alone is already suffocating.

Signing those contracts to join Lechery on their North American tour was a new beginning. Now, you’re a trapped animal, realizing that it’s surrounded by predators. Simon is not a stranger. The other three band members are not strangers.

Worse yet, this is worst possible time for him to show up.

It’s not the right place. Not the right fucking situation.

But you cannot run from this. There is no retreat. The exit is on the far side of the room, and everyone in attendance would notice if you suddenly bolted.

Cruelty. Nothing else describes it.

Fate is playing a trick, circling back to the choices you made all those years ago, smashing your face into the door as it shoves you through it.

“This is—” Your voice catches in your throat, nearly choking you. Even your lungs betray you. “A surprise,” you manage.

A creeping numbness enters the tips of your fingers as if you’ve been standing outside in the cold for too long. With it comes an urge to shake out your hands, the muscles in your arms itching for release.

The corner of Simon’s mouth quirks with a hint of a smile. It’s such a familiar gesture that your heart momentarily flutters, remembering all the times he’d give you that one little look while never giving it to anyone else.

“That’s one way to put it,” he muses.

You inwardly flinch.

There’s too much meaning in his words, and yet not nearly enough. Years have separated the two of you, have separated you from the all of them. There’s little reason to hope that they’ll greet you like an old friend. If anything, they have the right to demand answers—to demand to know why you up and left.

With as much casualness as you can muster, you cross one leg over the other, resting your hands between your thighs. “It’s been a long time.”

It’s a stupid thing to say. Of course it’s been a long fucking time.

Simon’s mouth turns downward in a slight frown. His lips part, but instead of speaking, he inhales. As if changing his mind, Simon shifts his attention from you to Olivia.

“Am I interrupting?”

Now you ask.

“Yes,” you reply automatically just as Olivia says, “No.”

Your head snaps in her direction, eyes growing large. Olivia sheepishly brings her drink to her lips, taking a long sip.

It’s best to salvage this. And by salvage, you mean scrap it all together.

“Olivia and I were having a chat. I could come find you later?” you offer.

Take it, Simon. Fucking take it.

Olivia pops up off the sofa. “It’s fine,” she says brightly, some of that West Virginia accent seeping through. “You can take my seat.”

You want to strangle her. What the fuck is she doing?

“Thanks, love,” grins Simon as Olivia steps to the right to move out of his way.

As he slides by her, Olivia nods her head in Simon’s direction. “Talk to him,” she mouths. You give a little shake of your head. Olivia holds her cup up to her face, blocking her mouth from Simon’s view. “You’re welcome,” she says silently, slipping away to mingle.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

All the sound in the room suddenly becomes a roar, the lights far too bright. Your vision swims, and then it all narrows quickly as if you’re experiencing the world through the end of a straw.

It’s your name that snaps you back to reality.

Your name. From Simon’s lips.

He drapes an arm over the back of the sofa, body turned toward you with clear familiarity. This is not two strangers introducing themselves. Simon leans forward in an almost intimate manner, like he’s known you all your life.

But he does know you, doesn’t he?

The two of you may be separated by years but there was a time when your entire life revolved around him.

And not just him.

There was Johnny. Kyle. John.

Each of them an individual anchor. Then all together, changing you, shaping you until it became too much, and you dashed from them like a sprinting deer.

The mellow, overhead lights twinkle in Simon’s brown eyes. “You’re our backup singer.”

“One of three,” you correct.

Simon inclines his head. “Did you know?”

“That you were Lechery?” Simon nods and you shake your head. “Of course not. Think I’d accept if I did?”

“Don’t know, dove. Didn’t say much when you left.”

I didn’t say anything.

You exhale slowly, attempting to calm your nerves. “Congratulations by the way.” You gesture vaguely at the room. “On your success.”

“Thank you,” murmurs Simon. “It’s a change from when we first met.”

That’s an understatement. When you first met him, it was at a punk show in London. You were blitzed out on gin and tonics and Simon was just a masked stranger to you. A brooding, balaclava wearing beast of a man that you saddled up to and flirted with incessantly. The two of you went to his flat, and once there, you pounced on him. And when his bandmate, Johnny, came home, he joined in. The three of you went at it until the sun came up.

That was before you met the other two housemates. When they arrived, they wormed their way in, and suddenly it was no longer just you, Johnny, and Simon.

Three months of the four of them. Of the five of you.

Years have spawned since. Of course things have changed.

“Still living in that little flat in South London?”

“No. Building is gone.”

“Oh?”

Simon cocks his head. “They built a hospital.” He shrugs. “The area needed it.”

The two of you lapse into a stretching quiet. Conversation is difficult, and it’s not just because you’re a goddamn nervous wreck. The Simon you knew then was tall and muscular, but still had a boyish air to him. This Simon is a man. He almost appears taller somehow. His chest and shoulders are broader, taking up far too much space. You feel eclipsed by him. Smaller. Fragile.

Which is silly. Absurd.

You’ve never felt like that around him, nor any of them. Vulnerable, yes. But never insignificant.

He oozes darkness. Danger. Temptation.

When you first met him at that punk show all those years ago, you felt it then, too, but there was something more chaotic about it. Like a Molotov cocktail sort of frenzy, where now it’s large and looming and suffocating like pure darkness.

If you were to let him in again, Simon would swallow you whole.

“With all the money you have now, I’m sure you’re in something much nicer.”

Simon chuckles. “I have reliable heat now. That’s something.”

“Because the heat actually works? Or because you can afford it?”

This time Simon’s chuckle is a hearty laugh. “Got me there.”

A hesitation rises in your throat. Speaking with Simon again, having him near you like this, is warming parts of you that long went cold. Keeping him on this sofa might be the thing you need—but it will also lead toward a conversation you have no interest in having.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” you murmur. “You’ve only just got here. I’m sure there are people who want to talk to you.”

“They can wait,” he says automatically.

From his tone, there is little room for discussion.

“I’m not important. In fact, I was invited here out of kindness.” This party isn’t for you. It’s for Lechery, and for everyone who made the European tour a success. “You should…mingle.”

It’s a meager rebuttal, and Simon knows this.

He leans forward a bit, closing the space between you. His gaze is so piercing, so primal, you’re pinned to the cushion, unable to move or think or speak.

“We’ve been waiting. I’ve been waiting. Years. Fucking years. Not a word. Not even a glimpse of where you’d gone or what happened to you.”

“Simon—”

“Don’t,” he says sharply. “I should be angry.” His gaze drops to your lips. “But all I want to do is kiss you.”

Your lips involuntarily part, and Simon groans lowly, his brow softening as he leans in a bit more.

“I have to go,” you whisper, drawing back at the last second. “Promised Lena a round of pool.”

As you scoot back, Simon’s arm darts out, his large hand grasping your bare thigh. It is a brand against your skin—a reminder of his touch, and that only sparks a fire in your core. His hand slides inward toward your pussy, moving higher up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress up until it bunches tightly over your lap. He drags you right back to him.

“And you promised us you’d never leave,” he replies, that assertive darkness returning. “But you did.” A crease forms in the middle of his brow. “You did.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you hiss.

Glancing over Simon’s shoulder, you observe the rest of the room. Most people aren’t paying you any attention, but a few nearby partygoers keep looking your way. But as your gaze sweeps over the crowd, you find them.

Johnny and Kyle are no longer near the bar. They’ve moved closer to you and Simon, and it’s clear that Johnny wants in on whatever’s being said, but Kyle is holding him back. John is still at the bar, a full glass of whiskey in hand, staring off into space like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Why not?” he asks, and there is genuine concern in that question.

I can’t tell you. It hurts too much.

“Let me go, Simon,” you whisper, knowing that you don’t sound strong. Only broken.

Simon’s hand remains on your thigh. He glances down at it. Easing up on his grip, Simon lightly caresses your skin with his thumb. You shiver, pussy clenching. Like a snake encircling its prey, the desire for him slithers around and between your bones.

“Just say it. And we’ll go.”

Simon gently squeezes your thigh again, and this time, you have to stifle a moan.

“I can’t,” you breathe.

The words hurt. They’re a daggered edge. As much as your body and mind crave him, your heart isn’t in it.

Simon’s grip eases, and you scoot away from him, smoothing your dress as you stand. He stares up at you, mouth a thin line, face grim. You can’t even gather enough strength to say goodbye.

Moving around the other side of the sofa, you aim right for Lena. She’s chatting up Rudy, the man Alejandro spoke to earlier when he couldn’t find his phone.

“Sorry to cut in,” you say with forced cheeriness. “But I need to borrow Lena. We were going to play a round of pool together.”

“Were we?” she asks slowly, side-eyeing you.

You turn your fake smile on her. “Yes,” you emphasize through gritted teeth.

Rudy beams. “Course.” He winks at Lena. “I’ll find you later.”

As Rudy starts to walk away, you link your arm in Lena’s, pulling her tightly against your side. Your gaze darts everywhere, scanning the room to make sure the members of Lechery don’t appear from thin air.

“Bitch, you better be joking,” she deadpans.

“We’re playing pool.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “I suck at pool. And why are you looking around like that?” Lena glances around too, her mouth turned downward in a frown. When she finds nothing of interest, she turns her attention back to you. “You look neurotic.”

“It’s Simon,” you whisper.

“And?” she prompts.

“And what?” Lena lifts her hand and waves it in a “go on” gesture. “We talked.”

“Very helpful,” she retorts. “And what did you and Simon talk about?” Her slightly annoyed expression becomes devious. “I saw the way he was looking at you.”

She waggles her eyebrows and you groan. “If we don’t start playing pool right now, he’ll know I lied.”

Lena bursts out laughing. “Was the conversation that bad?”

“Not…exactly,” you mutter, tugging on her arm, trying to herd Lena toward one of the pool tables.

“I don’t understand. It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t good either?”

“Yep,” you reply, tugging a little harder.

“Okay, ow. Girl, chill.” Lena comes to a dead stop and you nearly topple forward. “What did he say?”

You give the room another once-over. At first, you think you’re in the clear, and then you spot Simon just a few feet away deep in conversation with Johnny.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “They’re right there.”

Lena holds up a hand. “Stop. You’re acting weird.” When you don’t answer right away, her concern becomes rage. “What the fuck did he do?”

“Lena—”

“I will beat his ass.” You give her a bland look, and Lena sighs loudly, her rage melting away to bemused irritation. “Fine. I won’t fight him.” Her lips purse. “But I might accidentally spill a drink on him.”

“The conversation was fine. Just—” You chew on your bottom lip. “Not one I was expecting.”

Lena’s brow softens. “You haven’t seen him in years. And it’s not like you knew.”

She knows parts of what happened that summer, but she doesn’t have all the pieces. Of what she does, your reasons for fleeing isn’t one.

“No,” you agree. “I didn’t.”

You should consider the information a blow. Like a punch to the face, you’ve been thrown into a fight headfirst without any prior warning. Simon might have been the one to approach you tonight, but the others eventually will. There is an entire tour ahead of you. They will have every opportunity to bring it up.

Tour aside, you’ve signed on with 141 Music Group. There is little room for you to suddenly back out and turn tail. The ink is dried. The contracts signed and finalized. Breaking contracts isn’t unheard of, but you’d be screwing yourself financially. You’d also be putting Lena and Olivia in a tight spot. While each of you signed your own individual contracts, the three of you also signed one together as a trio.

You can’t just up and leave.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you admit, voice deflating like a popped balloon.

Lena’s face falls. She unlinks her arm from yours only to go in for a hug. “It’ll be fine. You have me. You have Olivia.” Drawing back, she places her hands on your shoulders. “All you need to do is be professional and do your job.”

“I know.”

“Fuck them,” she smiles, and then, with a sultry purr, “or fuck them.”

“Lena, I swear,” you mutter as she cackles.

Draping her arm over your shoulder, she turns toward the pool table. “Let’s play this god-awful game.”

It isn’t long before one of the tables opens up. Lena takes the lead, jumping in and taking the offered cue sticks. She hands one to you, and takes the other. Leaning yours against the pool table, you remove the billiard balls and set them on the tabletop.

As you start to straighten your spine, mind elsewhere, you don’t realize Simon is standing next to you until you nearly knock into him. You stagger backwards, but Simon is lightning quick, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you on your feet.

“Don’t fall,” he chides with a cheeky grin.

The back of your neck flares hot. A snarky retort simmers on your tongue but you swallow it back.

“Thank you,” you reply, tone cool.

Simon’s arm lingers a few seconds longer before slowly retreating. It’s incredibly languid. Nothing hurried about it. All of these people around and Simon has zero shame. Is he doing this on purpose? Does he want you uncomfortable?

Lena saddles up beside you. She leans against her cue stick, one eyebrow arched at Simon. “We’re about to start. Need something?” Her tone sends a clear message.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m playing winner.”

Damn it.

The winner will be you. Lena couldn’t play pool to save her life.

She makes a little sound of disapproval in the back of her throat. “Are you good with that?” she asks you, turning slightly in your direction.

No. It’s not fine.

“Perfectly,” you lie.

It’s the only answer you can give. A small crowd is forming, and the last thing you want to do is cause a scene.

As Lena shrugs and starts placing the billiard balls into the triangle rack, Simon’s hand lightly brushes over your lower back as he passes behind you. When you turn toward him, he doesn’t glance in your direction. He heads for Johnny, the two men taking up post against the wall.

Johnny’s gaze is intense—hardened. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. Which is so strange because he’s always been the most open of the four. He never could hide anything from you, and yet, you could never hide anything from him.

Lena grabs the sides of the triangle rack. She rocks it back and forth, bringing it to a stop. Removing the rack, she sets it aside, placing the cue ball in its starting point.

As you line up to make the first shot, your gaze flicks over to Simon and Johnny. Kyle has joined them, and he’s watching you right back.

Glancing away quickly, you go for it, striking the cue ball and sending it into the billiard balls. They scatter. You move into position again, sending your intended ball toward the pocket. It strikes the side just shy of the opening, moving away from the pocket and in the opposite direction.

“Your turn,” you say to Lena, stepping away.

You don’t dare glance in their direction. Sure, you could botch the game, play so poorly that Lena has to play Simon, but it would be obvious to everyone that you did. That’s how bad Lena is.

A few more turns and you completely have this in the bag. It’s not even negotiable at this point. Every time Lena strikes the cue ball and it misses her intended target, she winces. It’s followed by her giving you a sympathetic expression. She knows. She understands. At least, in some part.

It isn’t much longer before it’s called. Lena didn’t hit a single ball.

“Sorry,” she whispers just as Simon approaches.

He holds out his hand and Lena places the cue stick in his open palm. As she walks away, Lena glances over her shoulder, offering you a look of reassurance. She might not be beside you, but she has your back.

“Think we should up the stakes,” says Simon casually.

“How so?” you ask, pointedly looking away from him to fuss with the billiard balls.

Using his cue stick as a support, Simon leans in. “A bet, if you will.”

“Do enlighten me.”

Simon licks his lips. “If you win, I’ll let the matter rest.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“And if I win,” he continues, that wicked smile of his returning. “You’re mine for the next three days.”

You drop the billiard ball you’re holding. It hits the tabletop with a loud thwack.

“I’m—” A nervous laugh escapes you. “What?”

“Three days,” he repeats. “For three days, you belong to me.”

You glance over his shoulder. Lena is staring, open-mouthed at the back of Simon’s head. Kyle and Johnny are listening intently, both of them slightly pushed off from the wall like they want to come over and join the conversation. John is still nowhere in sight, but you don’t look for him. Simon’s presence is far too consuming, and you won’t back down.

“Okay,” you breathe. “Three days. And then what?”

Simon’s voice shifts to a sultry swagger. “You’ll do what I tell you. Without question.”

You snort. “Not interested.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, love,” he croons. “I felt you shiver when I touched you. Heard the groan you made.”

You hear Lena choke on her drink, spluttering slightly as she clears her throat.

“Simon,” you warn.

“Don’t deny yourself,” he growls.

An insistent voice within you begs you to take it, to accept and lose on purpose because deep down, you’ve missed him all these years.

Don’t deny yourself.

For three days, you belong to me.

“Three days?” you ask.

“Three,” he confirms. “And it starts when I win.”

“If you win,” you correct.

Simon’s smile is cocky. “We have a deal then.”

You nod and back away. Simon allows his gaze to linger on your body. It roams up and down, soaking in every inch. The look is devouring. Primal. You’ve seen that look on him before. Countless times in fact, and always just before he fucked you.

Simon sets the table, adding the billiard balls to the triangle rack. He rolls them, removes the rack, and takes one solid step back, observing his work.

“You break,” he says, nodding toward the pool table.

“Sure about that?”

“I insist.”

You line up your shot, striking the cue ball. It shoots forward, cracking against the billiard balls, sending them in all directions.

You slowly straighten your spine, giving Simon a silent dare. He’s not looking at the balls at all, but at you, and there is something lingering behind that stare. A bit of your confidence chips away, and then it shatters completely when Simon takes position.

With one shot, he knocks three balls into the pocket. Fucking three.

This time, you’re not smiling. Simon is going to win this. Easily. It’s funny that you thought you even had the chance. Which is fucking insane. Sure, you’ve seen Simon play but he was never this good.

It takes no more than a few turns. Simon sweeps the floor with you, never giving you a fair chance.

He knew he’d win. He fucking knew.

The bastard.

You want to rage, to feel frustration and anger in equal measure, to lash out at him for clearly tricking you.

But there is no animosity. The two of you made a deal. You agreed to this.

As the final ball rolls into the pocket, your gaze sweeps across the pool table. Simon is still bent forward from his shot. He’s not watching the ball at all. He’s watching you.

Simon grins, victorious.

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